THE  FIRST  AND  THE  SECOND  MARRIAGES 


OR,  THE 


COURTESIES  OF  WEDDED  LIFE. 


BY 


MRS.  MADELINE  LESLIE. 


FOURTH    THOUSAND. 


BOSTON: 
SHEPARD,    CLARK    &    CO. 

NEW  YORK:   W.  P.  FETRIDGE  &  CO. 

PHILADELPHIA;   H.  COWPERTHWAIT  &  CO. 

CLEVELAND,  OHIO :  JEWETT,  PROCTOR  &  WORTHINGTON. 

1856. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855,  by 

C.  STONE  &  CO. 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


'.    F.    DRAPER,    ANDOVE1 


THIS    VOLUME 
IS  AFFECTIONATELY  INSCRIBED 

TO  MY  BELOVED   HUSBAND, 

ON  THE  TWENTIETH  ANNIVERSARY 
OF   OUR   MARRIAGE. 


2054197 


PREFACE. 


THE  object  of  this  volume  is  indicated  by  its  title. 
It  is  to  exhibit  "The  courtesies  of  wedded  life."  It 
treats  of  courtship  and  marriage,  of  the  relation  of 
husband  and  wife,  of  their  responsibilities  and  privileges, 
and  of  their  trials  and  rewards.  It  aims  to  assist  them 
in  their  reciprocal  duties,  and  in  the  attainment  of  the 
pure  and  blissful  ends  of  wedlock.  It  shows  how  piety 
enables  them  to  bear  with  each  others'  infirmities,  how 
it  smoothes  asperities  of  temper,  assimilates  dispositions 
and  tastes,  conforms  character  to  the  noblest  standard, 
and  adorns  them  with  graces  surpassing  those  of  the 
muses. 

These  subjects  have  often  been  treated  in  a  didactic 
style  with  distinguished  ability.  Many  of  them  have 
found  a  place  in  the  representations  of  the  stage,  and  in 
the  numbers  of  the  poet.  The  author,  deeply  impressed 
with  their  grave  importance,  lying  as  they  do  at  the 
foundation  of  society,  has  attempted  to  present  them  in 
a  series  of  life-like  pictures  drawn  from  personal  observa- 

1*  (5) 


6  PREFACE. 

tion.  Imagination  has  furnished  the  drapery  of  these 
scenes,  but  their  "  propriae  personae"  are  living  charac- 
ters. If  any  readers  should  see  their  own  likeness  in  the 
picture,  and  should  find  their  own  history  in  the  inci- 
dents, their  silence  may  prevent  others  from  recognizing 
them  and  from  discovering  their  failings,  while  their  own 
reflection  may  assist  them  to  overcome  the  same,  and  to 
obey  more  perfectly  the  precepts,  "  Wives,  reverence 
your  husbands,"  and  "  Husbands,  love  your  wives  and 
be  not  bitter  against  them." 

The  original  design  of  this  work  embraced  several 
collateral  topics,  here  treated  with  brevity,  and  in  some 
instances  entirely  omitted,  lest  the  volume  should  in- 
crease beyond  the  prescribed"  limits.  For  all  its  omissions 
and  defects  we  invoke  the  charity  of  a  candid  public  to 
whom  we  now  send  it  on  its  mission  of  love.  If  it  shall 
produce  a  more  just  appreciation  of  the  marriage  institu- 
tion, multiply  the  cordialities  and  amenities  of  wedded 
companions,  and  increase  the  happiness  of  home,  the 
labor  of  its  preparation  will  be  abundantly  rewarded. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PAOE. 

I.     THE    FAMILIES    OF    THE    MINISTER   AND    LAW- 
YER     9 

II.     THE    NUPTIALS    AT    THE    FARM-HOUSE    ...       16 

III.  THE  YOUNG  SOPHOMORE 23 

IV.  THE    THEOLOGICAL    STUDENT 41 

V.    THOMAS  AND  HIS  CLASSMATES 52 

VI.    SICKNESS  AT  THE  PARSONAGE 64 

VII.     THE    MIS-DIRECTED    LETTER,    AND    OTHER    IN- 
CIDENTS     76 

VIII.    THE  TWO  SUITORS 94 

IX.     THE    FIRST    MARRIAGE 109 

X.    WEDDED  LOVE  RESTORED  AT  THE  SEA-SIDE 

HOME 121 

XL    THE  THREE  WEDDINGS 137 

XII.    THE  GOOD  HUSBAND 153 

XIII.  THE    TWINS,    FAITHFUL    MOSELLE,    AND    THE 

WELCOME    LETTER      164 

XIV.  THE  WHIPPED  WIFE 170 

XV.    THE  FIRST  HUSBAND'S  FAMILY  AND  PARISH.  179 

XVI.   DEATH  AT  THE  PARSONAGE 184 

(7) 


£  CONTENTS. 

XVII.    THE  HEIRESS 194 

XVIII.    THE  YOUNG  BRIDE 210 

XIX.    THE  TOURIST 227 

XX.   THE  YOUNG  WIDOW 244 

XXI.   THE  WINNING  WIFE 261 

XXII.    THE  SECOND  MARRIAGE 278 

XXIII.  THE  STEP-FATHER 283 

XXIV.  THE  CITY  PARISHIONERS 290 

XXV.    THE  LOST  HEIR 298 

XXVI.    THE  DISCOVERY 308 

XXVII.  THE  BRIDE  OF  THE  MILLIONNAIRE  .     .     .  318 

XXVIII.  THE  SEPARATION 334 

XXIX.   THE  RE-UNION 348 

XXX.  TABLE  TALK  AND  ENTERTAINMENT  .     .     .  371 

XXXI.  MELVILLE  AND  UNCLE  GORDON  ....  388 

XXXII.    HOME  AMUSEMENTS 404 

XXXIII.  "  MARRYING  AND  GIVING  IN  MARRIAGE  "    .  416 


THE  FIEST  AND  THE  SECOND  MARRIAGES. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE  FAMILIES   OF   THE  MINISTER  AND   LAWYER. 

NOT  far  from  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  ten,  two 

gentlemen  fixed  upon  the  quiet  village  of  C as  a 

desirable  residence.  One  was  Thomas  Warren,  a  cler- 
gyman, the  other,  Cyrus  "Wells,  a  lawyer.  These  gen- 
tlemen had,  for  many  years,  been  on  terms  of  the  closest 
intimacy,  having  formed  an  acquaintance  at  an  acad- 
emy, where  they  were  fitting  for  college,  and  having 
continued  together  until  the  present  time,  studying  their 
different  professions  in  the  same  town.  Learning  that 
there  was  a  favorable  opening  for  an  attorney  in  the 

village  of  C ,  Mr.  Wells  reluctantly  left  his  friend 

and  proceeded  thither.  But  on  his  arrival  at  the  place, 
he  found  they  were  destitute  of  a  pastor  as  well  as  of 
an  attorney,  and  he  earnestly  recommended  the  young 
licentiate. 

In  two  months  from  this  time,  Mr.  Warren  became 
his  pastor,  and  though  his  friend  was  now  elevated  from 
the  seat  on  which,  for  so  many  years  they  used  to  sit 
together  in  college,  ranged  in  alphabetical  order,  yet  he 
was  the  more  happy  to  hear  the  gospel  from  his  lips,  on 
account  of  their  long-tried  friendship. 

O) 


10  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  , 

Soon  after  their  settlement  in  C ,  Mr.  Wells,  or 

Squire  Wells  as  he  was  now  called,  bought  a  fine  house 
and  thirty  acres  of  land,  and  then  returned  to  his  native 
place  for  its  mistress.  As  the  parsonage  was  not  in 
readiness,  Mr.  Warren  boarded  with  his  friend  until  the 
spring,  when  he  also  found  a  mate,  and  commenced 
housekeeping  on  his  own  account. 

Years  passed  by,  and  though  the  world  in  general 
never  heard  of  the  distinguished  Mr.  Warren,  who  was 
advertised  to  preach  in  the  city,  nor  of  the  celebrated  ad- 
vocate, Mr.  Wells,  who  would  plead  in  this  or  that  diffi- 
cult case,  yet  they  were  perhaps  none  the  less  useful  and 
happy.  Reverend  Mr.  Warren  was  a  zealous,  faithful, 
affectionate  shepherd  over  a  united,  happy  flock,  and 
Squire  Wells  had  that  peculiar  and  crowning  excellence 
of  his  profession,  the  art  of  keeping  his  fellow-citizens  out 
of  the  law,  and  settling  their  difficulties  for  them  in  a 
most  peaceful  and  happy  manner.  In  this  way  the  vil- 
lage of  C acquired  an  enviable  reputation,  and 

though  the  good  Squire  lost  many  a  case  because  he 
thought  it  unlawful,  and  would  not  run  the  risk  of  the 
injury  to  his  conscience  by  undertaking  it,  yet  he  often 
remarked  that  he  had  enough  of  worldly  treasure,  and 
was  happy  in  the  thought  that  no  one  was  made  poorer 
by  his  means. 

Upon  his  marriage,  his  father,  who  was  a  gentleman 
of  large  property,  advanced  the  sum  necessary  to  pur- 
chase his  farm.  'Upon  the  decease  of  Mr.  Wells,  senior, 
his  son  inherited  the  whole  of  his  property,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  twenty  thousand  dollars,  left  to  his  grandson, 
who  bore  his  name,  to  be  devoted  to  his  education  an^ 
settlement  in  life. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  11 

Beside  this  son,  Squire  Wells  had  a  daughter  Eleanor, 
of  seven  years  of  age,  and  a  son  George,  two  years  younger. 
Two  infant  children  had  been  translated  to  their  heav- 
enly home. 

The  pastor  had  four  children ;  a  son  named  for  his 
father,  one  year  younger  than  Henry  Wells,  a  daughter 
Susan  Hammond,  named  for  his  only  sister,  of  the  same 
age  as  Eleanor,  a  second  daughter  Bessie,  of  five,  and  a 
son  Edward  of  three. 

Through  the  interest  of  his  friend,  the  salary  of  the 
good  clergyman  had  been  increased  from  time  to  time, 
as  his  family  multiplied,  and  no  one  could  have  convinced 
Mr.  Warren  that  a  minister  ever  had  a  more  attentive 
and  affectionate  people,  or  a  more  happy  home. 

When  Henry  had  completed  his  preparation  for  col- 
lege, under  the  careful  instruction  of  his  pastor,  Squire 
Wells  proposed  to  bear  Thomas's  expenses,  if  he  would 
go  with  him,  but  Thomas  was  not  yet  prepared,  and  his 
father  preferred  to  keep  him  at  home  during  the  first 
year,  and  have  him  enter  Sophomore.  About  this  time 
Mr.  Hammond  died,  and  Mrs.  Hammond  sent  for  her 
niece  to  visit  her  for  one  year,  and  to  attend  school. 
Susan  was  a  great  favorite  with  her  aunt,  who  would 
have  been  glad  to  adopt  the  young  girl,  and  as  she  was 
left  in  independent  circumstances,  and  had  no  children 
of  her  own,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Warren  were  sometimes 
tempted  to  yield  to  her  proposition,  especially  as  the  lady 
was  an  eminent  Christian,  and  every  way  qualified  to  be 
a  true  mother  to  their  daughter. 

Susan  was  a  frank,  enthusiastic  girl,  with  very  strong 
preferences  and  aversions,  one  who  under  the  parental 


12  THE    FIRST   AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

roof  had  been  in  the  habit  of  speaking  just  what  she 
thought,  sometimes  where  silence  would  have  been  more 
discreet.  She  had  a  fair  open  countenance,  upon  which 
it  was  very  easy  to  read  her  thoughts,  and  if  addressed 
suddenly,  even  by  the  members  of  her  own  family,  her 
cheek  would  mantle  with  roses,  and  her  eyes  be  cast 
down,  like  those  of  a  timid  fawn. 

Possessed  of  great  buoyancy  of  spirits,  she  was  yet 
very  even  in  her  temperament,  for  the  sudden  bursts  of 
tears  which  were  sometimes  caused  by  a  reproof  from 
her  parents,  or  by  sympathy  with  the  distressed,  were 
transient  as  an  April  shower. 

She  had  a  sweet  voice  both  in  speech  and  in  song,  and 
when  about  her  work  made  the  parsonage  ring  with  her 
cheerful  notes. 

When  Susan  returned  from  M ,  after  being  absent 

one  year,  and  was  informed  that  her  aunt  had  re- 
newed her  proposal  to  adopt  her,  she  begged  permission 
to  answer  the  letter  herself. 

Observing  a  meaning  smile  about  her  mouth,  her 
father  readily  consented,  with  the  condition  that  the 
letter  should  be  subject  to  their  revision. 

The  following  day  she  presented  her  father  with  a 
neatly  written  letter,  which  was  as  follows : 

"  Very  dear  aunt  Susan :  — 

« I  reached  home  in  time  to  see  brother  Thomas 
before  he  left  for  college.  He  went  off  in  good  spirits, 
and  thinks  he  shall  not  be  home-sick,  because  he  shall 
see  so  much  of  Henry  Wells.  Squire  Wells  told 
his  son  to  engage  a  place  for  brother  at  Mrs.  Holmes's, 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  13 

where  he  has  always  boarded,  and  insists  that  he  shall 
be  allowed  the  privilege  of  paying  the  bills  incurred  for 
board  and  tuition,  for  father  will  find  it  costs  something 
in  these  days  to  keep  college  boys  in  clothes  and  spend- 
ing money.  When  Thomas  and  I  walked  over  the  last 
evening  to  bid  the  family  good  bye,  the  kind  man  as  he 
shook  hands,  managed  to  leave  with  brother  a  fifty  dol- 
lar bill.  I  do  not  know  what  we  should  do  if  we  had 
not  such  kind  friends.  Henry  walked  over  here  the  next 
morning  to  start  with  Thomas,  and  to  tell  father  that  he 
would  look  after  him.  Henry  is  now  a  senior. 

"  I  found  Gracie  had  grown  much  during  my  absence. 
She  is  just  learning  to  walk,  and  is  a  precious  darling. 
I  received  a  joyful  welcome  not  only  from  Thomas 
and  my  parents,  but  from  Bessie  and  Edward. 

"  Yesterday,  mother  read  me  your  very  kind  letter  about 
adopting  me  to  be  your  child.  Dear  aunt,  I  could  not 
love  you  better  if  you  were  my  own  mother,  for  you 
have  been  like  a  mother  to  me  ever  since  I  can  remember, 
and  dear  uncle  Hammond  used  to  take  me  on  his  knee 
and  call  me  his  own  little  Susy.  But  at  present  I  feel 
it  to  be  my  duty  to  remain  at  home,  and  do  all  I  can  to 
assist  my  mother  in  her  care  of  the  family.  I  am  now 
in  my  seventeenth  year,  and  ought  to  be  learning  to  be 
of  use.  Certainly  I  can  be  with  regard  to  Gracey.  I  can 
see  my  parents  miss  Thomas  very  much,  and  yesterday 
I  heard  father  say  to  mother,  *  I  don't  know  but  we  ought 
to  comply  with  sister's  kind  proposition  to  adopt  Susan, 
but  now  Thomas  has  gone,  I  fear  you  would  sink  with- 
out her  cheerful  company.'  So,  dear  aunt,  I  made  up 
my  mind  at  once  to  stay  at  home,  and  asked  leave  to 
2 


14  THE    FIRST    AND    THE     SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

write  the  reply  to  you.  I  did  not  tell  them  what  I  should 
write,  but  shall  show  them  rny  letter  and  obtain  their 
approval  before  I  send  it. 

«  With  many  thanks  for  all  your  kindness, 
your  loving  niece, 

SUSAN  H.  WARREN." 

Mr.  Warren  read  the  letter  aloud  to  his  wife,  and 
though  he  said  nothing  of  it,  yet  Susan  knew  that  it  met 
his  approval,  for  he  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  called  her 
his  dutiful  daughter.  Her  mother,  too,  took  pains  to 
show  her  that  they  were  much  pleased  with  her  conduct. 

Thus  it  was  that  the  question,  which  in  the  course  of 
a  few  years  had  been  often  agitated,  was  settled,  for  a 
time  at  least,  by  the  conscientious  desire  of  Susan  to  be 
an  assistance  to  her  parents. 

As  Mr.  Warren  was  far  from  thinking  because  his 
daughter  had  graduated  with  honor  from  an  academy, 
that  she  had  therefore  finished  her  education,  he  was 
anxious  to  have  her  pursue  her  studies  at  home.  He 
laid  out  for  her  a  course  of  reading,  and  proposed  that 
she  should  keep  a  diary  of  daily  events,  for  the  sake  of 
ease  in  her  style  of  writing. 

In  addition  to  this,  her  mother  allowed  her  to  take 
much  of  the  care  of  her  little  sister,  of  whom  she  had 
become  very  fond,  and  also  of  certain  parts  of  the  family 
work,  so  that  the  young  girl  was  not  likely  to  be  troubled 
with  that  worst  of  complaints,  ennui,  for  want  of  enough 
to  occupy  her  time  and  attention. 

Eleanor  Wells,  the  companion  of  Susan,  had  been 
absent  from  home  nearly  two  years,  when  the  latter  re- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  15 

turned  from  M ;  but  had  since  come  home,  in  her 

own  opinion  an  accomplished  young  lady.  Both  her 
father  and  mother  regretted  many  traits  in  their  daugh- 
ter's character,  of  which  they  had  not  been  aware  while 
she  remained  under  the  parental  roof,  but  they  trusted  that 
home  influences  would  do  much  toward  removing  them, 
and  render  her  a  blessing  to  them,  as  they  gladly 
acknowledged  Susan  Warren  was  to  her  parents. 

Such   was   the   situation   of  the  families,  when  the 
heroine  of  our  simple  story  commenced  her  diary. 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE  NUPTIALS  AT  THE  FARM  HOUSE. 

Two  days  since  a  man  called  upon  father  to  request 
him  to  go  to  a  house  about  three  miles  distant,  and 
marry  a  couple.     As  the  afternoon  was  pleasant  he  per- 
mitted me  to  accompany  him.     The  wedding  was  ap- 
pointed at  three  o'clock,  and  it  wanted  but  five  minutes 
to  the  hour  when  we  drove  up  to  the  door.     As  no  one 
appeared  ready  to  take  the  horse,  father  told  me  to  sit  in 
the  buggy  and  hold  the  reins,  while  he  ascertained  if  we 
were  at  the  right  place.     There  were  no  signs  of  life 
about  the  premises,  but'  he  walked  through  the  gate  and 
knocked  at  the  door  with  the  end  of  his  whip.     A  young 
girl  soon  appeared  in  a  loose  dress  and  curl-papers  in  her 
hair.     When  she  saw  who  it  was,  the  color  flew  into  her 
face,  and  she  appeared  almost  ready  to  cry ;  but  father 
asked,  "  is  there  to  be  a  wedding  here  this  afternoon  ?  " 
"  I  believe  there  is,"  she  answered  in  great  confusion. 
"  I  thought  this  must  be  the  house,"  said  father ;  "  is 
there  any  one  here  to  take  my  horse  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  there's  no  one  at  home.  They've  all  gone 
into  the  field  to  get  in  a  load  of  hay,  'cause  they  thought 
there'd  be  a  shower.  But  I  expect  them  home  every 
minute,"  and  she  looked  anxiously  up  the  road.  "  If  you 
could  drive  the  horse  round  to  the  shed,  they'll  take  care 
of  him." 

(16) 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  17 

The  girl  disappeared  as  I  put  my  head  out  to  see  what 
detained  father,  and  he  came,  assisted  me  from  the 
buggy,  showed  me  into  a  room  where  by  the  number  of 
chairs  placed  in  order  against  the  wall,  he  supposed  the 
service  was  to  be  performed,  and  then  drove  the  horse, 
round  to  the  shed  which  the  girl  had  pointed  out. 

I  have  been  to  a  great  many  weddings  with  father,  as 
mother  is  feeble,  and  it  is  considered  a  token  of  respect 
for  some  of  the  family  to  accompany  him ;  but  this  was 
so  different  a  reception  from  any  I  ever  received,  that  I 
began  to  feel  very  much  like  laughing,  and  was  right 
glad  that  brother  Thomas  did  not  accompany  us,  for  one 
glance  into  his  mischief-loving  eyes  would  have  com- 
pletely upset  my  dignity. 

Father  soon  joined  me,  and  taking  a  paper  from  his 
nat,  made  himself  very  comfortable  in  its  perusal.  I 
glanced  around  the  room  hoping  to  find  something  in 
the  form  of  a  book ;  but  no,  a  small  solar  lamp  on  the 
table,  and  two  high  candlesticks  on  the  mantel  com- 
pleted the  survey.  I  was  not  left  long,  however,  without 
employment,  for  a  loud  whispering  commenced  in  a 
room  opening  from  the  one  in  which  we  were  seated, 
and  my  attention  was  soon  wholly  absorbed  in  listening. 
From  what  I  could  learn,  the  bride  was  making  her 
toilet,  some  part  of  which  appeared  to  be  of  a  particu- 
larly disagreeable  nature,  for  she  uttered  several  short 
screams,  saying, "  oh,  dear,  you  will  kill  me ;  I  wish  Sarah 
Maria  had  kept  her  old  tongs  at  home." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  another  voice,  "  it  will  look  beau- 
tiful when  it's  done ;  I  dare  say,  even  better  than  Sarah 
Maria's," 

2* 


18  THE    FIRST- AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES', 

«  I  hope  so,  but  do  be  careful  or  you'll  pull  every  spear 
of  hair  out  of  my  head." 

«  I  guess  I'd  better  heat  the  tongs  again,  and  you  can 
be  putting  on  your  stockings.  Strange  the  folks  don't 
come  home.  Seth  has  got  to  wash  and  dress.  It's  a 
dreadful  pity  the  parson  was  so  punctual.  Like  as  not 
he'll  charge  extra  pay." 

I  glanced  at  father,  and  saw  a  quiet  smile  playing 
about  his  mouth,  which  convinced  me  he  was  not  so  ab- 
sorbed in  his  paper  that  he  had  not  heard  what  was 
passing. 

All  was  still  for  a  few  moments  in  the  bedroom,  but 
in  the  kitchen  I  heard  some  one  at  work  upon  the  fire  in 
the  stove.  At  length  it  ceased,  and  I  heard  the  same 
voice  saying,  "  here,  be  quick,  they're  nice  and  hot  now. 
Let  me  do  the  front  ones,  and  then  you  can  slip  on  your 
dress,  for  I  thought  I  saw  the  wagon  coming  over  the 
hill." 

In  one  moment  a  shrill  shriek  was  heard,  followed  by 
a  voice  in  distress,  saying, "  you  ugly,  mean  thing,  you've 
taken  the  whole  curl  right  off,  and  burned  me  awfully," 
and  she  began  to  cry. 

"  Oh !  I'm  dreadful  sorry,"  replied  the  hair  dresser.  "  I 
didn't  know  'twas  so  hot;  but  I  declare  if  I  was  to  die,  I 
couldn't  help  laughing,  it  does  look  so  queer  to  see  that 
short  hair  sticking  out." 

"  I  guess  you  wouldn't  laugh  if  'twas  your  own  head," 
retorted  the  other  angrily.  « I'm  as  good  a  mind  as  ever 
•I  had  to  eat,  to  say  I  won't  be  married." 

"  Well,"  said  the  first,  «  Seth  won't  care,  'twas  your 
own  choice  having  it  to-day.  You  know  he  said  of  the 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  19 

two,  he'd  rather  put  it  off  till  after  haying  and  harvest- 
ing-" 

This  reply  seemed  to  bring  the  bride  to  terms,  and  she 
reluctantly  consented  to  submit  to  the  remaining  opera- 
tion, during  which  my  attention  was  called  off  by  a  loud 
"  geeing  and  hawing  "  in  the  yard.  Before  the  farmers 
reached  the  barn,  a  woman  ran  out,  and  spoke  to  them 
in  a  low  but  earnest  tone,  telling  them  I  suppose  that 
the  minister  had  come.  I  was  looking  through  the  blind, 
and  I  saw  a  young  man  (very  red  and  sun-burnt)  reluc- 
tantly leave  the  load  of  hay,  and  approach  the  house. 

"  I'd  no  kind  o'  idear  'twas  so  late,"  said  he  as  they 
came  near,  "  but  'taint  no  use  to  drive  me,  I  can't  do 
nothing  when  I'm  driv." 

"  Only  think,"  said  the  woman,  "  Esther  was  a  curling 
her  hair  with  the  curling  tongs  Sarah  Maria  lent  her,  and 
she  burned  the  whole  front  one  off,  paper  and  all,  close 
to  her  head." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  laughed  the  young  man,  "It'll  bring 
down  her  pride  some,  I  reckon.  She  was  a  lotting  so  on 
cutting  a  dash  with  them  are  curls." 

"  Don't  let  her  know  I  told  you,"  said  the  woman,  "  she's 
awful  angry  with  me,  now." 

After  what  seemed  a  very  long  time,  but  which  father 
said  was  only  half  an  hour,  the  woman  I  had  seen  talk- 
ing with  the  young  man,  entered  courtesying  and  took  a 
seat.  It  was  now  four  o'clock,  and  father  asked  her  if 
the  young  people  \yould  soon  be  ready. 

"  They'll  be  right  in,"  she  answered,  "  they  got  to  work 
out  in  the  field,  and  forgot  how  time  was  passing." 


20  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES', 

While  she  was  speaking,  there  was  a  whispering  in 
the  entry,  "  You  go  in  first" 

"  I  wont ;  you  go." 

The  door  opened,  and  a  man  entered,  the  same  who 
came  for  father,  and  said  frankly,  "  how  de  do  Parson  ? 
I  guess  you've  had  to  wait  a  spell.  If  I  had  known  you 
was  so  prompt,  I'd  'a  said  four  o'clock  in  the  room  of 
three ;  but  I'd  an  idear  that  ministers  were  forgetful,  and 
as  'twas  a  busy  time,  I  thought  I'd  say  three,  and  then 
you  would  be  here  in  season." 

'  In  the  mean  time  the  groom  and  bride  had  slipped  into 
the  room,  and  seated  themselves  on  the  first  chairs  they 
came  to,  near  the  door. 

Father  smiled,  and  said,  "  if  you  are  ready,  I  will  pro- 
ceed at  once  to  the  ceremony,  as  it  is  a  busy  time  with 
me,  too." 

I  had  to  press  my  handkerchief  to  my  mouth  to 
keep  from  laughing  aloud.  There  sat  the  bride  with 
showers  of  pipe  stem  curls  falling  down  the  sides  of  her 
face ;  and  there  true  enough  was  the  front  one  burned  off 
within  half  an  inch  of  her  head,  leaving  a  large  red  place 
on  her  forehead.  She  looked  not  only  crest  fallen,  but 
rather  sulky,  as  she  turned  her  back  partly  to  her  future 
lord  and  master. 

Father,  after  waiting  a  moment  for  them  to  take  their 
places,  had  to  request  them  to  do  so,  pointing  to  two 
chairs  placed  together  as  a  convenient  place  for  them  to 
occupy.  The  farmer  and  his  wife  as  they  proved  to  be, 
then  took  their  places  on  either  side  of  them.  During 
the  first  prayer  they  all  remained  seated,  when  father  re- 
quested  them  to  rise  and  join  hands.  Both  the  young 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  21 

man  and  the  girl  turned  very  red  as  they  obeyed  and  lis- 
tened with  open  mouths  for  what  was  to  follow.  When 
the  short  ceremony  was  concluded,  the  groom  sighed  so 
it  could  be  heard  all  over  the  room  ;  I  suppose  from  a 
sense  of  relief  that  it  was  over.  Father  had  hardly  con- 
cluded the  benediction,  when  the  young  man  stepped  for- 
ward with  his  hand  thrust  into  the  pocket  of  his  panta- 
loons, exclaiming,  "  How  much  is  the  damage,  Parson?" 

"  I  can  hardly  say  at  present,"  replied  father,  evidently 
making  quite  an  effort  to  retain  his  gravity.  "  If  you 
mean  what  is  the  fee,  the  groom  generally  gives  me  what 
he  can  afford." 

A  loud  whispering  now  commenced  between  him  and 
the  man  by  his  side ;  the  bride  standing  in  profound  in- 
difference, as  if  she  would  not  deign  to  attend  to  such 
matters. 

"  I  gin  two  dollars,"  said  the  farmer,  and  accordingly 
a  two  dollar  bill  was  extracted  from  the  pocket-book,  and 
passed  to  father,  after  which,  wishing  them  great  happi- 
ness in  their  married  life,  and  bidding  them  good  after- 
noon, we  took  our  departure,  I  accompanying  father  to 
the  shed,  without  having  had  one  word  addressed  to  me 
by  any  member  of  the  family. 

As  we  rode  home,  father  remarked  that  probably 
neither  the  groom  nor  the  bride  had  ever  attended  a  wed- 
ding, or  they  could  scarcely  have  been  so  ignorant  of  the 
form  of  the  service,  and  then  he  asked  me  if  I  noticed 
anything  particular  in  the  appearance  of  the  company. 
I  told  him  what  struck  me  as  different  from  anything  I 
ever  had  seen,  was  the  want  of  a  proper  affection  between 
the  husband  and  wife ;  and  I  repeated  to  him  the  remark 


22  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES. 

of  the  woman,  that  the  young  man  wished  her  to  postpone 
the  marriage,  and  also  what  he  had  said  about  1 
down  her  pride. 

«  Yes,  my  daughter,"  replied  father,  "  and  you 
ways  observe  that  even  among  the  poorest  class,  and 
those  who  would  naturally  be  considered  the  most  igno- 
rant of  the  rules  of  etiquette,  true  religion  renders  them 
polite,  and  attentive  to  all  the  civilities  of  every  day  life, 
such  little  courtesies  as  render  the  relations  of  husband 
and  wife,  of  parents  and  children,  just  what  God  in- 
tended them  to  be  when  he  established  the  family  consti- 
tution. 

"  Among  the  rich  and  the  learned,  as  well  as  the  poor 
and  ignorant,  the  want  of  these  civilities,  of  that  defer- 
ence to  each  other's  wishes,  and  desire  to  promote  each 
other's  happiness  which  is  inculcated  by  the  word  of  God, 
will  make  any  family  wretched." 

I  never  had  a  heartier  laugh  than  when  I  related  my 
afternoon  adventures  to  brother  Thomas,  and  Henry 
Wells,  who  are  passing  their  vacation  at  home.  Henry 
said  he  would  not  have  valued  ten  dollars  to  have  been 
present.  I  know  father  thought  it  was  a  strange  affair, 
for  I  overheard  him  saying  as  much  to  mother. 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE  YOUNG   SOPHOMORE. 

FOR  the  first  time  in  his  life,  poor  Thomas  failed  to 
receive  a  cordial  welcome  on  coming  home.  I  wag 
standing  by  the  gate  bidding  Eleanor  Wells,  good  by ; 
(she  had  passed  the  afternoon  with  me,)  when  I  heard 
the  stage  coach  drive  up  to  the  tavern.  As  I  was  very 
busy  talking,  I  thought  no  more  of  it,  until  Eleanor 
started  and  said,  "why,  Susan,  there's  your  brother 
Thomas,"  and  so  it  was.  The  College  term  had  only 
been  in  session  three  weeks,  and  I  could  not  imagine 
what  had  brought  him  home.  After  he  had  kissed  me, 
he  shook  hands  with  Eleanor,  and  then  asked,  "  Susan, 
where's  mother  ?  " 

"  In  her  chamber,"  I  replied,  and  he  instantly  turned 
into  the  little  path  leading  to  the  south  door,  and  ran  up 
there.  I  don't  know  what  he  told  mother,  but  when  she 
came  down  to  prayers,  her  eyes  were  red  and  swollen, 
while  the  poor  fellow  looked  as  solemn  as  a  church. 
When  father  began  to  read  in  the  Bible,  his  voice  trem- 
bled so  much  that  Bessie  asked  me  in  a  whisper,  what 
was  the  matter  with  all  of  us,  for  seeing  the  rest  sad, 
and  fearing  some  trouble,  I  had  unconsciously  a  very 
gloomy  face.  I  did  not  wish  her  to  know  that  I  was 
ignorant  of  Thomas's  affairs,  and  so  I  only  shook  my 
head.  Poor  father  could  hardly  get  through  his  prayer. 

(23) 


24  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES, 

If  brother  had  not  been  before  us  bodily,  I  should  have 
supposed  news  had  arrived  of  his  death, 
could  not  help  weeping.     I  am  sure  I  heard  Thomas  sob 
two  or  three  times.     Just  as  soon  as  he  could,  he  slipped 
from  the  room,  and  I  heard  him  run  up  to  his  chamb( 
and  lock  the  door.     I  sat  down,  hoping  father  or  moth 
would  explain  what  had  occurred,  but  mother  only  said, 
«  Susan  and  Bessie,  you  had  better  retire,"  and  she  spoke 
so  sadly  I  had  not  courage  to  ask  a  single  question. 

Early  this  morning  I  heard  Thomas  go  out  of  the  front 
door,  and  he  did  not  come  in  until  we  had  eaten  break- 
fast, and  were  just  going  to  attend  prayers.  Mother 
seemed  grieved,  but  said,  "  I  am  sorry  you  were  not 
here  in  season,  my  son." 

"  I  don't  wish  any  breakfast,"  he  answered,  and  father 
commenced  reading. 

In  the  course  of  the  forenoon,  mother  and  brother  re- 
mained in  the  study,  and  then  father  assisted  him  to 
carry  a  table  and  bookcase  into  his  chamber.  After  all 
was  arranged  he  came  to  me,  and  asked  me  to  walk  with 
him,  which  I  was  glad  enough  to  do,  as  I  had  not  yet 
the  least  idea  what  all  this  could  mean. 

We  walked  along  together  until  we  reached  a  retired 
grove,  and  though  I  was  exceedingly  impatient  to  hear 
why  Thomas  came  home  so  unexpectedly,  yet  after  one 
glance  into  his  sober  face,  so  unlike  his  usually  merry 
one,  I  could  not  articulate  one  word.  We  stepped  over 
the  low  wall,  and  soon  were  out  of  sight  of  the  road. 
There  was  a  clump  of  trees  together  and  a  pleasant 
green  mound  at  the  foot  of  them.  Thomas  sat  down 
and  motioned  me  to  sit  by  his  side.  It  seemed  to  me  a 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  25 

long,  long  time  before  he  spoke,  but  at  length  he  burst 
out,  "  Susy,  do  you  know  I  am  disgraced  and  ruined 
forever?" 

I  sobbed  aloud,  "  Oh !  what  have  you  done  ?  "  I  asked 
when  I  could  speak. 

The  poor  fellow  put  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes  and 
cried  so  violently  that  he  shook  all  over. 

"  Dear,  dear  Tommy,"  I  said,  "  no  matter  what  you 
have  done,  I  will  always  love  you  just  as  much  as  ever," 
and  I  put  my  arms  around  his  neck  and  drew  him  up 
where  he  could  lay  his  head  upon  my  shoulder.  It  was 
my  blessed  privilege  now  to  be  the  comforter ;  for  oh !  how 
many,  many  times  has  he  soothed  me  and  sympathized 
in  my  childish  griefs.  Dear  brother  held  my  hand  tightly, 
and  at  last  he  grew  calmer,  and  told  me  all  his  troubles ; 
and  I  don't  think  he  has  been  at  all  to  blame ;  I  would 
have  done  just  as  he  did.  The  facts  are  these.  Last 
term  some  of  the  fellows  used  to  meet  late  at  night  and 
have  oyster  suppers  ;  and  often  they  procured  wine,  and 
became  very  boisterous.  Thomas's  chum  carried  dishes 
and  wine  glasses  in  his  trunk  to  college,  and  one  night  he 
insisted  that  brother  should  be  present.  He  said  so  much 
that  at  length  he  prevailed,  and,  as  Thomas  expressed  it, 
they  had  a  high  time.  About  midnight  they  became  so 
noisy  that  they  awoke  the  tutor,  who  slept  in  the  same 
building,  and  he  suddenly  appeared  among  them. 
Brother  had  taken  two  glasses  of  wine,  and  he  confessed 
that  he  felt  pretty  lively,  so  he  stepped  up  to  tutor  Brown, 
whom  the  class  had  nicknamed  on  account  of  the  ex- 
treme length  of  his  nose,  and  with  a  glass  of  wine  in  his 
hand  invited  him  to  drink,  saying,  "  I  assure  you,  Profes- 
3 


26  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

sor  Longnose,  you  will  find  it  both  palatable  and  refresh- 
ing."  The  tutor  was  very  indignant,  and  Thomas  says 
he  had  just  sense  enough  to  know  he  had  said  some- 
thing very  silly,  and  was  glad  to  sneak  off  to  bed.  The 
next  morning  he  was  summoned  to  the  President's  study, 
and  was  there  admonished  for  his  conduct.  The  Presi- 
dent treated  him  with  the  tenderness  of  a  child ;  and  at 
length  brother  told  him  it  was  the  first  time  he  had 
accepted  an  invitation  to  a  midnight  supper,  and  it  should 

be  the  last.  President said  it  gave  him  great 

pleasure  to  hear  him  make  such  a  pledge,  and  in  consid- 
eration of  it  he  should  not  inform  his  parents  of  what 
had  passed,  as  he  knew  how  anxious  they  were  that  he 
should  make  a  good  use  of  his  time  in  the  improvement 
of  the  talents  God  had  given  him." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  replied  brother,  "  but  I  could  not 
sleep  until  I  had  told  my  mother." 

I  remember  well  when  that  letter  came,  and  I  remem- 
ber too  that  a  day  or  two  after  came  a  letter  from  Presi- 
dent   ,  and  he  spoke  in  terms  of  unqualified  praise 

of  brother's  conduct,  and  also  of  his  standing  in  his  class. 
In  the  vacation  Henry  Wells  told  me  that  brother  was 
a  universal  favorite ;  that  he  was  such  good  company, 
and  always  so  full  of  fun,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  such  a 
fine  scholar,  that  the  fellows  couldn't  say  enough  in  his 
praise. 

When  Thomas  went  back  to ,  three  weeks  ago, 

father  cautioned  him  about  associating  so  much  with 
John  Hawes,  and  so  brother  changed  his  chum,  and 
roomed  this  term  with  a  very  steady  young  man,  by  the 
,name  of  Henry  Stanwood.  It  so  happened  that  one 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  27 

afternoon  he  stepped  for  a  'moment  into  Hawes's  room, 
on  his  way  from  recitation,  and  saw  that  preparations 
were  being  made  for  a  great  spree.  When  he  went  in, 
after  a  slight  knock,  Hawes  kicked  a  pan  under  the  bed, 
but  not  so  quickly  but  that  Thomas  saw  that  it  contained 
a  goose  already  to  spit,  which  they  roast  by  driving  a 
nail  into  the  mantle-piece  and  suspending  it  by  a  string, 
having  a  pan  underneath  to  catch  the  gravy — a  piece 
of  cord  is  tied  to  one  of  the  legs,  and  by  pulling  that  and 
tying  it  to  the  round  of  a  chair,  they  turn  it  until  every 
side  is  browned  alike. 

Supposing  he  suspected  something  was  going  on, 
Hawes  invited  him  to  be  present,  and  said,  "  we  are  go 
ing  to  have  a  glorious  time,  and  no  fear  of  Longnosr 
either,  for  he's  going  off  to  L ,  courting  to-night. 

Thomas  immediately  rose  to  go,  and  decidedly  de 
clined,  saying,  "  I  have  pledged  my  word  to  President 

Hawes  then  hinted  something,  in  which  brother  caught 
the  word  "  blab,"  which  so  enraged  him  that  he  flew  at 
Hawes,  and  said  he  could  have  knocked  him  down  with 
one  blow,  he  felt  so  strong ;  but  all  at  once  he  thought 
he  heard  mother's  soft  voice  whispering  "  my  son,"  and 
he  turned  quickly  around  almost  expecting  to  see  her 
standing  behind  him.  He  went  directly  to  Jiis  room,  and 
after  a  short  time  forgot  all  about  what  had  passed,  but 
on  returning  from  one  of  the  literary  societies  in  the  eve- 
ning, he  heard  such  a  noise  in  Hawes's  room,  which  was 
directly  under  his  own,  he  presumed  that  they  were  al- 
ready engaged  in  the  discussion  of  their  goose. 

He  took  off  his  clothes  and  went  to  bed,  but  the  noise 


28  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

below  constantly  increased,  and  he  concluded  to  get  up, 
as  he  could  not  sleep,  and  prepare  for  the  morning  reci- 
tation. An  hour  later  he  heard  a  great  crash,  as  if  a 
table  had  tipped  over,  followed  by  a  scream  of  distress, 
and  being  dressed  he  rushed  down  and  burst  into  the 
room.  The  sight  was  awful.  They  had  air  been  drinking 
freely,  and  one  of  them  had  thrown  a  tumbler  at  llawes, 
which  struck  him  in  the  cheek  and  made  a  great  gash 
from  which  the  blood  was  streaming  profusely.  The 
dishes  lay  in  broken  pieces  all  over  the  floor,  and  one 
fellow,  the  craziest  of  all,  was  just  aiming  a  bottle  at  the 
looking-glass.  Thomas  sprang  forward  to  snatch  it  from 
him,  when  the  drunken  fellow  eluded  his  grasp,  and 
threw  it  with  all  his  force  right  into  the  face  and  eyes 
of  the  tutor,  who  had  just  then  entered  the  door.  The 
blow  made  the  good  man  furious,  and  he  flew  at  brother, 
supposing  it  was  he,  and  began  to  abuse  him  most  un- 
mercifully, calling  him  all  manner  of  mean  names,  and 
saying  that  he  would  have  him  dismissed  from  college 
the  very  next  morning.  Finding  he  could  do  nothing  to 
appease  him,  Thomas  retired  to  his  own  room,  but  he 
could  not  sleep,  so  he  spent  the  night  in  writing  a  letter  to 
the  President.  But  after  a  dozen  efforts  to  exculpate  him- 
self without  exposing  his  classmates,  he  gave  it  up,  and 
determined  to  allow  matters  to  take  their  course.  The 
next  morning  as  they  were  going  out  from  College 
prayers,  the  President  said,  very  gravely,  «  Thomas  War- 
ren is  requested  to  call  at  my  study  at  eight  o'clock. 

At  the  appointed  time  he  knocked  at  the  study  door, 
and  though  conscious  he  had  done  nothing  wrong,  yet 
his  knees  trembled  so  that  he  could  hardly  stand. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  29 

"Walk  in,"  said  the  President,  merely  glancing  up 
from  a  letter  he  was  writing,  and  motioning  that  Thomas 
was  to  be  seated.  He  then  went  on  with  his  writing,  but 
with  a  heavy  frown  upon  his  forehead.  A  cough  from 
the  back  part  of  the  room  made  Thomas  start,  and  there 
sat  tutor  Brown  with  his  nose  increased  to  the  size  of 
two,  and  a  handkerchief  tied  around  one  eye.  Thomas 
sprang  from  his  chair  to  ask  him  how  he  was,  for  he  al- 
ways liked  the  man,  but  remembering  himself,  sank  back 
into  his  seat.  The  movement  did  not  escape  the  notice 
of  the  President,  who  looked  still  more  stern  than  be- 
fore. 

"  Warren,"  he  said,  holding  out  a  letter  he  had  folded 
and  directed,  "  You  are  dismissed  from  college  for  six 
months.  I  regret  this  on  your  own  account,  but  much 
more  on  account  of  the  grief  it  will  cause  your  worthy 
parents.  I  regret  also  that  my  confidence  in  your  integ- 
rity should  have  been  misplaced."  He  still  held  out  the 
letter,  but  poor  Thomas  said  he  grew  so  faint,  all  this 
was  so  sudden,  that  he  staggered  back  into  his  seat. 
He  expected,  confidently,  that  questions  would  have  been 
asked,  and  somehow  that  he  could  explain  everything. 

President hemmed  and  coughed,  and  Thomas 

is  sure  he  saw  a  tear  drop  from  his  eye.  He  waited  a 
moment  for  brother  to  recover  himself,  and  then  said, "  I  am 
deeply  grieved  that  this  should  have  occurred,"  with  a 
glance  at  the  disfigured  face  of  the  poor  tutor.  "  But  a 
young  man  who  so  far  forgets  himself  as  to  violate  the 
rules  of  decency  had  better  remain  under  the  parental 
roof,"  and  he  held  out  the  letter  again. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  Thomas  respectfully,  "  but  J 
3* 


30  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES', 

cannot  carry  that  letter  home  to  my  parents     It  would 
kill  my  mother,"  and  he  says  if  all  the  world  had  been 
there,  he  could  not  have  helped  it ;  he  began  to  cry. 
had  been  awake  all  night,  and  had  grown  very  nervous, 
and  the  idea  of  mother  weeping  over  that  ] 
unnerved  him. 

«  I  am  glad  to  see"  said  the  President, « that  you 
not  entirely  lost,  at  least  to  your  duty  as  a  child.     But  I 
regret  the  love  you  manifest  for  your  mother,  did  not  re- 
strain you  last  evening." 

«  Will  you  permit  me  to  read  that  letter,  sir?"  asked 
Thomas,  starting  to  his  feet. 

«  That  is  rather  a  strange  request;  but  I  will  comply 

with  it." 

Brother  tore  it  open,  and  after  glancing  down  the  first 
page,  deliberately  folded  it,  and  returned  it  to  him,  saying, 
«  I  cannot  take  it,  sir.  It  accuses  me  of  crimes  I  never 
committed." 

Tutor  Brown  started  forward  angrily,  but  the  Presi- 
dent waved  him  back,  and  without  another  word, 
motioned  Thomas  to  the  door.  He  walked  out  back  of 
the  colleges,  until  the  hour  when  his  chum  would  be 
gone  to  recitation,  then  he  locked  himself  in  his  room, 
packed  everything  into  his  trunk  and  bag,  went  to  the 
tavern  and  sent  a  man  for  them,  and  took  the  stage- 
coach home,  without  seeing  one  of  the  students. 

Poor  Thomas !  It  was  nearly  an  hour  before  lie  had 
finished  relating  his  sad  adventure ;  but  all  the  time  he 
had  been  growing  in  my  estimation,  until  I  began  to  re- 
gard him  in  the  light  of  a  martyr  to  his  own  goodness. 
I  said  everything  comforting,  I  could  think  of.  I  told 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  31 

him  it  would  all  come  out  right ;  such  things  always  did ; 
that  I  loved  him  a  thousand  times  better  than  ever.  But 
though  he  kissed  me,  and  called  me  his  darling  sister ;  yet 
he  still  looked  very  sad. 

"  Susy,"  said  he,  "  I  can't  bear  it.  It's  hard  enough  to 
be  disgraced  before  the  President  and  the  whole  faculty, 
setting  aside  your  own  class,  but  seeing  father  and 
mother  take  it  so  to  heart,  kills  me  ;  and  when  I  was  try- 
ing to  do  my  very  best,"  and  the  poor  fellow  broke  down 
again. 

"  They  don't,  they  can't  believe  you  did  it,"  I  exclaimed 
eagerly. 

"  No,"  he  answered  sadly,  "  I  don't  think  they  doubt 
my  word ;  but  they  looked  so  grieved  and  sorry,  it  cuts 
me  to  the  heart.  If  it  had  not  been  for  mother,  instead 
of  coming  home,  I  should  have  gone  off  on  a  whaling 
voyage,  and  I  don't  know  but  I  shall  now.  As  for  stay- 
ing here  to  be  pointed  at  as  a  \varning  to  all  bad  boys, 
I  can't  do  it.  Then  what  will  Squire  Wells  think  of 
me." 

"  Oh,  Thomas ! "  I  said,  putting  my  arms  around  his 
neck,  "  You  wouldn't  be  so  wicked.  That  would  show 
that  you  felt  you  had  done  wrong.  That  would  be  the 
very  worst  way.  in  the  world.  I  am  sure  you  won't  do 
that."  In  my  warmth,  I  grew  very  indignant  against 
the  good  President,  and  even  wished  a  dreadful  wish 
about  tutor  Brown's  nose,  and  I  said  that  Hawes  and 
all  his  company  were  a  mean  set,  if  they  didn't  confess 
to  the  President,  and  send  for  Thomas  to  come  right 
back,  and  that  I  didn't  care  if  the  President  did  feel 


32  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

badly  when  he  found  out  he  had  been  in  the  wrong,  for 
he  ought  not  to  have  been  in  such  a  hurry  to  blame  him 
without  any  evidence.  But  Thomas  stopped  rne  and 
said  that  he  had  not  a  better  friend  in  College,  than  the 
President,  and  that  he  acquitted  him  of  all  blame,  and  if 
he  ever  did  find  out  the  truth,  no  one  would  more  regret 
the  course  he  had  pursued.  We  walked  slowly  home, 
and  I  secretly  determined  to  talk  with  mother,  and  beg 
her  to  try  to  look  cheerful  for  poor  Tommy's  sake.  Bat 
as  soon  as  we  entered  the  house,  father  came  forward 
and  shook  hands  with  brother  so  cordially,  that  I  expected 

without  doubt,  President had  sent  for  him  to  return. 

Thomas  thought  so  too,  and  the  color  flashed  to  his 
face." 

"  I  have  had  a  letter,  my  son,"  said  father. 

"  And  has  he  restored  me  to  my  place  ?  "  asked  Thomas 
eagerly. 

"  No,  he  has  sent  me  the  letter  he  wrote  to  send  by 
you,  but  with  a  postscript,  which  I  will  show  you  at 
some  future  day." 

In  vain  Thomas  plead  to  see  it  now ;  father  smiled  and 
said  "  no."  But  I  can  see  that  they  are  much  more 
cheerful  since  receiving  it  When  brother  had  left  the 
room,  I  begged  mother  to  let  me  see  the  letter,  but  she 
said,  "not  at  present"  She  however  told  me  the  sub- 
stance, which  was  that  the  President  had  been  much 
affected  by  the  love  Thomas  had  exhibited  for  his  par- 
ents,  especially  the  veneration  in  which  he  held  his 
mother,  and  he  comforted  father  with  the  hope  that  the 
temporary  absence  from  his  class,  together  with  the  mor- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  33 

lincation  he  would  experience,  might  be  the  means  of 
entirely  breaking  up  the  habit  of  drinking,  which  so  un- 
fitted Thomas  for  usefulness. 


This  morning  I  was  returning  from  the  village  where 
I  had  been  on  an  errand  for  mother,  when  our  little  pet 
Gracie  came  running  out  to  meet  me.  I  caught  her  in 
my  arms,  and  went  dancing  into  the  parlor,  singing, 

"  Kock  a  bye  baby  upon  the  tree  top." 

when  my  song  was  brought  to  a  sudden  termination  by 
seeing  a  very  serious  looking  gentleman  sitting  there  in 
grave  consultation  with  my  father.  I  presume  I  was  rosy 
enough,  for  it  seemed  as  if  all  the  blood  in  my  body  flew 
into  my  cheeks,  but  I  had  only  time  to  notice  that  the 
gentleman  had  a  pair  of  extremely  large,  sharp  eyes,  and 
a  very  grave  mouth,  before  father  said,  "  my  daughter, 
sir,"  and  I  hastened  from  the  room.  I  ran.  to  relate  my 
adventure  to  Thomas,  but  was  hardly  able  to  bring  a 
smile  to  his  face.  Dear  brother !  He  takes  his  disgrace 
sadly  to  heart.  I  never  could  have  believed  anything 
would  change  him  so  much.  I  sat  down  by  him  to  cheer 
him  if  possible  by  a  more  hopeful  view  of  his  case. 
Gracie  lay  quietly  in  my  arms  with  her  favorite  finger  in 
her  mouth.  Thomas  laid  his  head  on  my  shoulder,  a  lib- 
erty he* often  craved,  but  was  seldom  indulged  in,  unless 
when  in  trouble.  "  Susy,"  he  said,  "  sing  me  a  tune." 
I  struck  at  once  the  tune  set  to  the  words ; 

"  I  had  a  hobby  horse :  —  " 


34  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

•    «  No,  Susy,"  he  exclaimed,  putting  his  hand  to  my 
mouth,  «  not  that,  something  more  serious." 

I  immediately  commenced  the  beautiful  lines  :— 

"  How  sweet  to  be  allowed  to  pray, 

To  God  the  holy  One ; 
With  filial  heart  and  lips  to  say, 
O  God,  thy  will  be  done !" 

This  was  a  favorite  hymn  of  mother's,  and  while  1 
sang  it,  poor  Thomas  seemed  soothed  and  comforted. 
"Sister,"  he  said,  when  I  had  finished,  "I  must  do 
something  different  from  what  I  am  doing.  I  find  it  im- 
possible to  fix  my  mind  on  my  studies,  and  then  I  am 
sure  father  cannot  sustain  the  additional  care  of  hearing 
me  recite." 

« Indeed,  brother,"  I  answered,  "  he  said  it  was  a  pleas- 
ure to  him,  -because  your  recitations  were  thoroughly  pre- 
pared." 

Thomas  smiled  a  sad  smile.  I  leaned  my  head  against 
his,  to  keep  him  from  seeing  how  much  I  was  affected, 
when  the  moving  of  a  shadow  started  me,  and  I  saw 
father  and  the  gentleman  right  before  us.  It  was  too, 
too  bad ;  I  could  have  cried  from  sheer  vexation.  There 
he  stood  with  his  great  eyes  fixed  right  upon  us,  as  in- 
tently as  if  he  were  sitting  for  his  daguerreotype.  Father 
had  on  one  of  his  roguish  smiles  when  he  saw  my  em- 
barrassment, while  Gracie  sucked  her  finger  as  if  hothing 
in  the  world  had  happened.  The  gentleman  never  moved 
a  muscle  of  his  face.  He  is  the  most  disagreeable  person 
I  ever  met 

"  Mr.  Gordon,  this  is  Thomas,  my  son,"  said  father, 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  35 

introducing  them.  "  My  daughter  I  believe  you  saw  be- 
low." 

Mr.  Gordon  and  Thomas  shook  hands,  while  I  sat  as 
awkwardly  holding  Gracie,  as  if  I  had  not  power  to 
move,  until  father  added,  "  This  is  the  room,  sir.  It  has 
a  fine  view  from  the  front  windows." 

When  they  turned  back  to  the  room,  they  found  they 
had  lost  one  view,  and  that  was  of  a  great  girl  with  her 
hair  dishevelled,  holding  a  sleepy  babe,  for  I  had  quietly 
slipped  from  the  room. 

After  I  had  put  Gracie  into  bed,  for  her  morning  nap, 
I  ran  to  the  kitchen,  where  I  assisted  mother  until  dinner. 
She  told  me  that  Mr.  Gordon  had  applied  to  father  to 
take  him  as  a  student  in  theology,  (father  had  for  several 
•«7ears  been  in  the  habit  of  teaching  young  men  who  are 
•eparing  for  the  ministry,)  that  he  wished  to  board  here, 
and  father  had  proposed  to  him  to  teach  Thomas,  to  pay 
for  his  own  tuition. 

"  Oh !  I  hope  he  won't  board  here,"  I  exclaimed. 

"Why?  my  child." 

"  I  dislike  him  so  much,  I  never  could  do  anything  but 
his  great  eyes  would  be  right  before  me." 

"  His  letters  of  recommendation  which  your  father 
showed  me,  spoke  very  highly  of  him,  both  as  a  gentle- 
man and  a  scholar,  replied  mother. 

As  Mr.  Gordon  was  to  take  dinner  with  us,  1  was 
obliged  to  run  to  my  room,  after  setting  the  table,  and  to 
make  my  toilet  for  the  day,  which  was  soon  done,  and  I 
returned  to  call  the  gentleman  from  the  study.  Thomas 
was  with  them,  and  really  appeared  something  like  him- 
self. 


36  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

I  can't  say  but  he  is  sensible  enough,  but  certainly  Mr. 
Gordon  is  my  aversion.  I  don't  believe  he  has  any  soul 
I  never  saw  a  man  with  such  a  fixed  expression,  no  mat- 
ter  whether  the  conversation  is  grave  or  gay,  he  never 
lights  up.  Once  or  twice  at  dinner  he  said  very  witty 
thin-s,  and  while  the  rest  laughed  heartily,  he  looked 
solemn  and  unmoved  as  a  deacon.  I  believe  before 
left,  he  saw  that  I  regarded  him  as  a  curiosity,  for  when- 
ever  he  spoke,  his  eyes  turned  upon  me.  I  do  not  re- 
member that  I  ever  conducted  myself  with  so  much  de- 
corum, as  during  the  hour  and  a  half  that  he  stopped 
after  dinner. 

Having  assisted  Nancy  to  clear  the  table,  I  sat  down 
to  my  sewing,  and  hardly  raised  my  eyes  from  my  work, 
until  he  rose  to  go,  when  I  gave  such  a  joyful  start  that 
if  he  had  a  thought  about  such  an  insignificant  being,  he 
must  have  seen  I  was  glad  that  he  went. 

It  is  decided  that  he  is  to  return  next  week.  I  told 
father  I  was  going  to  sing  all  the  time  until  then,  for 
after  that  my  voice  must  be  mute. 

"  If  that  is  to  be  the  case,"  said  father,  patting  my 
head,  "  I  shall  regret  having  consented  to  his  very  earnest 
wish  to  board  here.  He  did  not  say  much  about  it  at 
first,  but  after  he  had  seen  the  room,  he  said  it  would  be 
much  more  convenient  to  be  in  the  same  house  on  ac- 
count of  his  own  recitations,  and  those  of  Thomas." 

Yesterday  morning  I  was  seated  by  the  front  window 
in  my  pleasant  room,  Gracie  was  in  her  little  chair  by 
my  side,  playing  quietly  with  her  doll,  and  I  was  reading 
until  the  first  bell  for  church  service,  when  my  attention 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  37 

ivas  drawn  from  my  book  by  a  very  unusual  sound  in 
our  quiet  village.  A  wagon  came  rattling  down  the  hill, 
and  to  my  great  amazement  seated  in  it  was  aunt  John, 
wife  of  good  old  Mister  Clark,  one  of  the  best  deacons, 
and  the  meekest  men  that  ever  lived.  As  she  drew 
nearer,  I  saw  she  had  a  large  tin  boiler  in  the  back  of 
the  open  wagon,  and  as  she  drove  with  speed,  it  rattled 
back  and  forth  like  a  great  drum.  Aunt  John,  as  she  is 
universally  called,  from  the  fact  of  there  being  so  many 
by  the  name  of  Clark,  drove  straight  to  the  shop  of  the 
tinman,  and  seemed  surprised  to  find  it  closed.  After 
sundry  loud  knocks  for  admittance,  which,  however, 
proved  of  no  effect,  she  proceeded  to  the  house  adjoining, 
where  the  owner  of  the  shop  lives.  After  one  minute  I 
saw  her  raise  her  hands  in  profound  astonishment,  then 
climb  into  the  wagon,  and  whip  her  horse  almost  into  a 
run,  as  she  started  for  home.  I  was  not  a  little  curious 
to  know  the  meaning  of  this  unusual  movement  on  the 
part  of  aunt  John,  and  my  curiosity  was  soon  gratified, 
for  in  the  afternoon  about  ten  minutes  before  the  last 
bell  rang,  the  same  horse  and  wagon  drove  slowly  up  to 
our  door.  Deacon  Clark  got  out,  his  long  white  hair 
streaming  in  the  wind,  tied  his  horse,  and  then  demurely 
assisted  aunt  John  into  the  house.  I  ran  to  open  the 
door,  when  he  inquired  for  father.  I  waited  upon  them 
into  the  study,  and  commenced  dusting  father's  coat  as 
an  excuse  for  staying  in  the  room.  After  they  had  all 
shaken  hands,  the  good  deacon  said,  "  my  wife  wished  to 
see  you  before  she  went  to  church,"  and  he  nodded  to 
her  to  commence. 

The  poor  woman  seemed  on  the  point  of  crying,  and 
4 


38  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

could  hardly  speak,  but  at  length  said  that  she  and  her 
husband  had  "  somehow  missed  a  day  in  their  reckon- 
ing," and  thought  yesterday  was  the  Sabbath.  "Mr. 
Clark  and  I,"  she  added,  "  concluded  not  to  come  down 
to  church,  as  it  rained  so  hard,  and  we  had  no  covered 
wagon,  and  we  staid  in  the  house  all  day,  and  read  the 
Bible.  Before  the  shower  came  up  in  the  morning,  Mr. 
Clark  said  he  wished  he  had  had  time  the  day  before  to 
finish  a  few  chores,  for  his  wood  was  ah1  out,  and  he  could 
have  got  it  under  cover  with  the  men's  help  in  an  hour ; 
but  it  was  the  Sabbath,  and  he  never  calculated  to  cheat 
his  Maker  by  taking  his  day  to  work  in.  So  never  a 
stick  was  carried  in,  but  we  sat  and  read  as  I  told  you. 
This  morning,  Monday,  as  I  took  it  to  be,  I  got  up  early, 
and  went  to  my  washing,  but  when  I  put  the  clothes  into 
the  biler,  I  found  it  leaked  so  I  couldn't  do  nothing  with 
it.  After  Mr.  Clark  had  tried  to  bung  up  the  hole,  I 
found  I  must  carry  it  to  be  mended,  so  I  started  off  as 
fast  as  I  could  go,  for  the  village,  with  all  my  washing 
duds  on,  just  as  I  left  the  tub.  I  was  surprised  to  find 
the  shop  shut,  and  then  I  remembered  I  had  not  met  a 
single  soul  all  the  three  miles  I'd  come.  But  I  went  to 
the  house  to  see  if  Mr.  Sanger  was  sick.  «  No,"  said  he, 
"  We're  all  well." 

I  want  you  then,  «  says  I,"  to  come  right  away  as  quick 
as  ever  you  can,  and  sodder  my  biler,  for  I've  got  a  great 
washing  to  do  to-day." 

"  Miss  Clark,"  says  he,  « it's  never  been  my  custom  to 
sodder  on  the  Sabbath." 

"  Sabbath!"  Says  I,  "it's  Monday,  Mr.  Sanger." 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  39 

"  I  rather  think,"  says  he,  "  If  you  wait  a  few  minutes 
you'll  hear  the  bell  ring  for  meeting." 

"  Goodness'  sake ! "  says  I,  "  and  here  I  am  with  my 
tin  biler ;  oh  dear !  I  must  go  home  and  stop  the  men ; 
they  are  going  out  in  the  piece  to  cut  wood.  I  drove 
home  as  fast  as  I  could  make  the  old  mare  go ;  and  true 
enough  the  men  had  gone,  so  I  had  to  drive  half  a  mile 
arter  'em  and  tell  'em  'twas  Sunday." 

Good  Deacon  Clark  gazed  into  father's  face  as  eagerly 
as  if  his  fate  had  been  written  there. 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  heaving  a  heavy  sigh.  "  It's  a  dreadful 
disappintment  to  us,  and  I  don't  see  how  we  could 
have  lost  our  reckoning.  We've  broken  the  Sabby  day, 
no  mistake  about  that,  and  I'm  afeard  we've  brought  a 
disgrace  upon  our  profession.  We  couldn't  either  on  us 
feel  to  go  into  the  sanctuary  till  we'd  laid  our  sins,  as  it 
were,  before  you,  and  we're  ready  to  do  what's  right 
about  it." 

"  Yes,"  added  aunt  John,  wiping  her  eye  with  her 
glove,  "  but  I'd  rather  have  gin  our  best  colt  than  to  have 
had  it  happen." 

"  My  good  friends,"  responded  father,  taking  the  aged 
deacon  by  the  hand,  (aunt  John  is  his  third  wife,  and 
his  junior  by  about  thirty  years,)  "  I  respect  your  feelings  of 
sorrow  that  you  have  unconsciously  violated  the  Sab- 
bath, but  your  character  for  godliness  is  too  well  known 
for  this  to  affect  you,  or  to  need  explanation.  Before  this 
time,  I  have  no  doubt,  your  mistake  is  known  through- 
out the  parish,  and  your  appearance  at  church  this  after- 
noon will  serve  to  convince  them  that  you  yourself  re- 
gret it  more  than  any  one." 


40  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES. 

"  Then  you  don't  think  it  is  necessary  to  bring  the  mat- 
ter before  the  church  ? "  said  the  meek  man,  his  face 
brightening,  as  he  rose  suddenly  from  his  chair. 

"  By  no  means,"  replied  father,  taking  from  my  hands 
the  well  brushed  coat.  "  There  is  no  occasion  for  it 
whatever.  If  more  agreeable  to  you,  you  can  leave  your 
horse  tied  to  my  gate,  and  walk  over  to  church  with  us." 

"  Yes,"  said  aunt  John  eagerly,  to  her  husband,  "  It'll 
look  respectabler,"  and  so  I  waited  upon  the  conscien- 
tious pair  to  church,  and  took  great  pains  to  show  them 
marked  attention,  of  which  the  good  lady,  at  least, 
showed  a  proper  appreciation  by  inviting  me,  in  a  low 
voice,  to  come  soon  and  spend  a  sociable  afternoon  with 
her,  "  and  be  sure  to  stop  to  tea." 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE  THEOLOGICAL  STUDENT. 

MR.  Gordon  has  been  here  a  week,  but  I  am  no  more 
acquainted  with  him  than  on  the  first  day  of  his  arrival. 
In  his  presence  I  always  have  the  feeling  that  he  knows 
just  what  I'm  thinking  of,  and  considers  me  a  very  silly 
girl.  I  am  often  vexed  at  myself  for  entertaining  any 
solicitude  about  him  or  his  thoughts ;  but  whenever  (which 
to  be  sure  is  seldom)  I  forget  for  a  moment  that  he  is 
near,  and  speak  in  my  natural  \vay,  or  hum  a  tune, 
his  eyes  are  fixed  so  seriously  upon  me  that  they  actu- 
ally oppress  me,  and  when  I  turn  away,  as  if  uncon- 
scious, he  only  stares  the  more.  Two  or  three  times  I 
have  had  to  hurry  from  the  room  to  hide  my  tears,  for 
his  eyes  said  as  plainly  as  eyes  could  speak,  "  you  foolish 
girl,  why  cannot  you  spend  your  time  more  profitably ; 
and  if  you  speak,  why  cannot  you  utter  sense  ?  "  He  is 
so  very  good  and  very  precise,  that  he  seems  to  have  no 
sympathy  with  common  humanity.  I  despise  such  peo- 
ple ;  they  seem  to  be  saying,  "  look  at  me,  see  how  ex- 
actly my  conduct  conforms  to  the  rules  of  right ;  look, 
and  imitate  my  example." 

But  I  cannot  wholly  despise  him  while  he  makes  such 
prayers.  Praying  seems  to  be  his  element  He  lifts  me 
above  myself,  and  I  think  I  have  had  more  realizing  views 
of  life  as  a  state  of  probation,  and  of  the  vanity  of  my 

4*  (41) 


42  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

own  course,  while  hearing  him  pray,  than  ever  before. 
Two  or  three  times  I  have  observed  that  Thomas  was 
also  much  affected.  He  is  delighted  with  his  tutor,  and 
is  more  cheerful,  though  scarcely  more  hopeful  that  his 
innocence  will  be  proved.  I  heard  him  telling  father  yes- 
terday that  he  never  wished  to  return  to ,  he  should 

prefer  to  graduate  at  some  other  college ;  but  father  said 
he  must  go  back  and  live  down  this  false  report. 

One  thing  I  dislike  in  this  new  arrangement,  I  have 
so  much  more  to  do.  I  take  the  whole  care  of  setting 
the  table,  and  then  wash  the  silver  and  glass  after  each 
meal.  Bessie  goes  to  school,  and  has  no  time  except 
for  out-door  exercise.  Mother  says  this  greatly  relieves 
her.  Then  I  am  learning  to  cook,  and  to-day  made  a 
batch  of  bread.  First  I  made  the  yeast,  then  mixed  it, 
and  attended  to  the  baking.  Father,  mother  and 
Thomas  declared  they  never  ate  better  bread ;  but  Mr. 
Gordon  spoke  not  one  word,  though  I  am  sure  he  ate 
enough.  I  do  not  believe  he  knows  what  he  is  eating. 
He  is  always  discussing  original  sin,  the  fall  of  man,  or 
the  divine  decrees.  I  mean  to  ask  father  to  leave  such 
dry  subjects  in  the  study.  I  really  wonder  what  father, 
mother,  and  even  brother  find  to  like  so  much  in  Mr. 
Gordon ;  but  I  must  leave  my  writing  and  read  an  hour 
to  old  Dame  Streeter,  and  I  will  take  Gracie  with  me. 

'Oh,  dear!  how  frightened  I  was  at  breakfast.  We 
had  scarcely  commenced  eating,  when  Mr.  Gordon  asked 
father  whether  he  considered  free  will  — 

"  That  subject  is  interdicted,"  said  father,  interrupting 
him. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  43 

The  gentleman  looked  aghast. 

"  My  daughter  Susy  complains  that  we  do  not  have 
at  all  as  good  times  at  table  as  formerly ;  that  we  are  al- 
ways discussing  the  catechism.  Isn't  that  it,  Susy?" 
and  father  laughed. 

My  lip  quivered,  but  I  could  not  speak.  It  was  too 
bad  in  father  to  say  /  said  so ;  but  after  a  moment  of 
painful  embarrassment  to  me,  Mr.  Gordon  almost  smiled 
as  he  remarked, "  I  really  owe  Miss  Susan  an  apology. 
I  understand  and  appreciate  the  propriety  of  the  sugges- 
tion, sir,"  he  added,  addressing  father,  as  I  did  not  raise 
my  eyes,  "  I  think  it  is  very  promotive  of  health  to  have 
cheerful  conversation  during  our  repasts."  To  do  him 
justice,  while  he  continued  at  table  he  rendered  him- 
self very  agreeable.  I  do  believe,  if  I  were  blind,  I  should 
like  him  extremely,  he  has  so  melodious  a  voice,  and  he 
modulates  it  so  well.  He  read  one  of  the  hymns  for 
father,  at  an  evening  meeting,  and  I  scarcely  ever  heard 
it  read  with  more  feeling,  and  all  the  time  his  face  was 
cold  as  an  icicle. 

Yesterday  afternoon  I  sat  for  a  few  moments  talking 
with  Dame  Streeter,  after  I  had  finished  the  book  I  have 
been  reading,  when  I  was  surprised  to  hear  it  rain.  I 
started  in  alarm,  as  I  was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  home, 
and  I  feared  Gracie  would  get  wet.  But  I  had  scarcely 
put  on  my  bonnet  and  shawl  before  Mr.  Gordon  knocked 
at  the  door,  with  two  umbrellas.  I  really  was  glad  to 
see  him  that  time,  and  he  insisted  upon  carrying  Gracie 
and  held  the  umbrella  so  that  she  did  not  get  at  all  damp. 
If  I  had  dared  I  would  have  asked  him  how  he  knew  I 
was  there ;  but  he  scarcely  spoke  after  he  had  coaxed 


44  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

Gracie  from  me.  I  suppose  he  was  deep  in  total  de- 
pravity, which,  I  believe,  is  one  of  his  favorite  doctrines. 
When  we  reached  home  I  could  not  help  thanking  him, 
but  he  said,  "  I  am  abundantly  paid,"  and  kissed  Gra- 
de's little  fat  hand. 

Yesterday  I  asked  Thomas  if  he  did  not  think  Mr. 
Gordon's  eyes  were  very  disagreeable. 
"  How  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Why,  they  always  look  right  into  one  so." 
"  I  never  noticed  anything  peculiar  about  his  eye,  ex- 
cept that  it  is  very  large,"  he  replied. 

But  to-day  he  told  me  that  he  had  watched  him  since 
I  spoke,  and  he  did  stare,  but,  said  he,  with  a  little  of  his 
old  look,  "  it  is  always  at  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  I,  "  and  I  won't  bear  it  any  longer ;  I  try 
to  behave  just  as  well  as  I  can,"  and  I  burst  out  crying. 

"Why,  Susy,"  said  brother,  "what  is  the  matter 
now?" 

"  I  don't  see  what  I've  done,"  I  answered  sobbing, 
"  that  he  should  single  me  out  for  reproof.  Bessie,  or 
Edward  have  not  received  a  single  glance." 

"  Oh  well,"  said  he,  "  I  wouldn't  take  it  to  heart,  he'll 
get  over  it  in  a  day  or  two."  But  my  mind  is  made  up, 
and  I'll  make  Bessie  change  places  with  rne,  and  then  he 
can't  see  me  at  all.  And  I  won't  tell  father  the  reason 
either,  or  he  would  be  sure  to  tell  him,  as  he  did  about 
the  theological  discussions  at  table. 

Two  days  ago  Eleanor  Wells  visited  me  again,  and  I 
invited  her  to  stop  to  tea.  She  has  been  here  very  often 
since  Thomas  came  home,  and  does  not  seem  pleased 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  45 

that  he  is  so  sober  and  takes  so  little  notice  of  her.  The 
family  were  all  seated  in  the  room,  after  supper,  and  I 
stood  at  the  table  washing  the  cups,  when  she  exclaimed, 
"  Oh,  Susy,  I  forgot  to  give  you  a  message  from  brother. 
He  says  you  are  greatly  in  his  debt,  about  writing,  and 
wants  you  to  commence  at  once ;  at  any  rate  to  put  in  a 
postscript  to  my  letter." 

I  don't  think  it  was  kind  of  Eleanor  to  speak  so  pub- 
licly about  it,  when  she  knows  that  I  never  wrote  him 
more  than  a  dozen  lines,  in  a  letter  of  hers,  and  that  was 
to  deny  something  she  had  told  him  which  would  have 
given  him  a  wrclffg  impression.  I  told  her  so,  as  soon 
as  we  were  alone ;  but  she  only  replied,  "  I  am  sure 
I  meant  no  harm,  and  was  sorry  as  soon  as  I  saw  how  it 
made  you  blusfF' 

"  No  wonder  I  blushed,"  I  answered,  "  for  father, 
mother,  and  Mr.  Gordon,  fixed  their  eyes  upon  me  with 
astonishment,  and  I  had  to  choke  back  my  tears.  I  al- 
ways liked  Henry ;  but  I  shouldn't  think  of  writing  to 
him,  and  you  may  teh1  him  so." 

Thomas  and  Mr.  Gordon  took  their  customary  walk 
after  tea,  and  Eleanor  suddenly  took  her  leave.  I  accom- 
panied her  part  of  the  way  home. 

"  I  should  think  it  would  be  a  real  bore,"  she  said,  "  to 
have  that  Mr.  Gordon  at  your  house.  I  never  saw  per- 
sons so  much  changed  as  you  and  your  brother  are,  since 
he  came." 

"  It  isn't  Mr.  Gordon  who  has  changed  us ;  you  know 
we  all  feel  sad  on  account  of  poor  Thomas's  trouble  ;  and 
then  as  Bessie  is  going  away,  I  have  a  great  deal  to  do." 

We  have  lately  received  a  letter  from  aunt  Susan,  in- 


46  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

viting  sister  to  come  there  for  six  months  and  attend  the 
academy.  Mother  is  much  gratified,  as  the  oner  was 
wholly  unexpected.  I  was  there  a  year,  but  aunt  had 
always  promised  to  assist  me  on  account  of  my  name. 
Bessie  goes  next  week,  and  the  preparation  keeps  us  busy 
enough.  Yesterday  was  my  regular  time  to  go  to  Dame 
Streeter's  to  read  to  her ;  mother  and  I  were  sewing  in 
the  parlor,  and  Mr.  Gordon  was  reading  the  review,  by  the 
window,  when  I  told  her  I  could  hardly  spare  the  time 
to  go,  and  that  I  would  get  Edward  to  run  down  there 
and  tell  her  that  I  would  read  two  hours  next  week. 

"  I  am  afraid  the  old  lady  will  be"  disappointed,"  re- 
plied mother,  anxiously  glancing  at  the  pile  of  unfinished 
work  before  us. 

"  Will  you  allow  me  to  take  your  pla^for  once,  Miss 
Susan,"  inquired  Mr.  Gordon,  without  taking  his  eyes 
from  the  paper. 

"  Oh  yes,  sir,  she  would  be  delighted,"  I  replied  eagerly ; 
"  but  I  am  afraid  she  would  not  be  so  well  satisfied  with 
me  afterwards." 

The  gentleman  gave  me  a  quick  glance  of  inquiry,  and 
I  thought  he  seemed  pleased,  but  as  usual  I  colored  up 
to  my  ears,  and  indeed  I  was  almost  frightened  at  what 
I  had  said,  so  the  subject  dropped,  and  I  do  not  even 
know  whether  he  went.  He  was  away  from  the  house 
nearly  two  hours,  but  he  volunteered  no  information  on 
his  return,  and  I  certainly  did  not  ask  for  any. 

The  very  first  opportunity  I  had,  after  what  Thomas 
said  about  his  staring  at  me,  I  took  Bessie's  seat  and 
made  her  take  mine,  so  that  I  sat  on  the  same  side  of  the 
table  with  Mr.  Gordon,  while  James  was  between  us.  But 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  47 

I  soon  found  I  had  punished  myself.  Now  that  I  have 
become  accustomed  to  his  precise  manner,  I  do  not  no- 
tice it  half  as  much,  and  it  adds  greatly  to  our  pleasure 
to  be  able  to  see  the  one  who  talks  with  us.  He  is  the 
oddest  man  I  ever  met.  He  takes  the  plates  from  father 
and  passes  them  around  the  table  without  at  all  inter- 
rupting the  conversation,  and  he  seems  to  know  just  when 
every  one  is  ready  to  be  helped  again.  Though  mother's 
plate  is  nearly  hidden  by  the  tray,  he  always  sees  that  she 
is  supplied  with  everything  she  needs  and  without  mak- 
ing the  least  effort,  but  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  almost 
with  mechanical  precision.  Yet  he  relates  an  anec- 
dote much  better  than  any  person  I  ever  knew,  and  if  he 
would  only  allow  the  muscles  of  his  mouth  to  play,  as 
he  does  the  tones  of  his  voice,  I  think  he  would  be  almost 
handsome. 

Bessie  has  gone.  Poor  girl !  she  cried  bitterly  at  part- 
ing ;  but  she  will  soon  be  reconciled  to  the  change  ;  aunt 
Susan  is  very  kind,  and  will  be  a  real  mother  to  her.  At 
dinner  Mr.  Gordon  very  deliberately  took  her  seat,  say- 
ing to  mother,  "  Grace  will  be  pleased  to  resume  her 
place  by  her  sister ; "  so  he  and  Thomas  sat  one  side, 
and  James  and  I  the  other,  with  Gracie  between  us. 

Mother  seemed  distressed  and  began  to  apologize,  that 
he  had  not  the  seat  which  belonged  to  him,  at  father's 
right  hand,  but  he  merely  bowed,  "  excuse  me,  Madame, 
I  prefer  this,"  and  no  more  was  said.  When  the  bless- 
ing had  been  asked,  father  referred  to  the  subject  which 
they  had  been  discussing  before  they  left  the  study, 
namely  the  power  of  conscience. 


48  THE   FIRST   AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES ; 

« I  remember,"  said  Mr.  Gordon,  "a  singular  case  in 
my  native  town,  illustrating  that  truth.  A  young  man 
long  known  as  an  idle,  dissipated  fellow,  was  one  Sab- 
bath morning  strolling  through  the  streets,  seeking  for 
amusement,  when  he  passed  a  farm-house  where  the 
good  dame  had  long  strings  of  sausages  hung  out  upon 
poles.  Watching  a  favorable  opportunity,  John,  whose 
perceptive  faculties  were  not  very  acute,  and  who  had 
long  ago  forgotten  the  distinctions  between  mine  and 
thine,  seized  the  string,  and  quickly  taking  from  it  a  sup- 
ply for  his  dinner,  thrust  them  into  his  bosom,  and  con- 
tinued his  walk.  Just  as  he  reached  the  Main  Street, 
the  bells  were  ringing  for  morning  service,  and  the  poor 
fellow  followed  the  multitude  until  they  led  him  to  the 
church  door.  Here  he  stopped  and  sat  down  upon  the 
step,  watching  people  as  they  passed  in.  Soon  the  organ 
sent  forth  its  solemn  notes,  and  as  one  strain  after  an- 
other fell  on  his  ear,  John,  who  was  enthusiastically  fond 
of  music,  sauntered  into  the  porch,  and  with  a  half  mut- 
tered expression  '  it's  as  good  as  muster,'  found  his  way 
up  the  broad  aisle,  advancing  two  thirds  of  the  distance 
to  the  pulpit,  that  he  might  have  a  full  view  of  the  per- 
formers, as  he  called  them. 

"  Now  John  was  not  in  the  habit,  as  may  well  be  sup- 
posed, of  frequenting  the  house  of  God,  and  after  the  vol- 
untary had  ceased,  he  listened  with  open  mouthed  won- 
der to  what  was  to  follow.  When  the  choir  rose  to 
sing,  his  appreciation  of  the  correctness  of  their  time  was 
shown  by^  sundry  nods,  as  he  swayed  his  body  back  and 
forth,  causing  not  a  few  smiles  among  the  younger  part 
of  the  audience.  At  length  the  good  pastor  commenced 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  49 

his  sermon,  which  was  from  the  words,  <  Thou  hast  set 
our  iniquities  before  thee,  our  secret  sins  in  the  light  of 
thy  countenance.' 

"  After  expatiating  at  some  length  upon  the  nature  of 
secret  sins,  he  remarked,  '  but  there  is  no  form  of  iniquity 
so  offensive  to  God  as  the  bosom  sin,'  bringing  his  hand 
upon  his  breast.  <  Our  outward  life  may  be  moral  and 
upright;  in  the  eyes  of  our  fellow  citizens  and  the  world 
we  may  be  models  of  propriety  and  virtue,  but  we  are 
never  safe  so  long  as  we  hug  the  bosom  sin.'  After 
much  more  upon  the  same  point,  he  added,  '  See  to  it, 
then,  that  while  you  conform  outwardly  to  the  law  of 
God,  by  attendance  upon  the  means  of  grace  and  the 
performance  of  active  duties,  you  do  not  neglect  the  bo- 
som sin.  Get  rid  of  it,  cast  it  out,  throw  it  away,  or  you 
will  be  forever  lost.' 

"  Poor  John!     During  the  latter  part  of  the  discourse 
he  had  become  extremely  uneasy,  and  found  it  impossi- 
ble to  keep  his  seat.     Once  or  twice  he  caught  up  his 
tattered  hat  as  if  to  leave  the  house,  and  then  concluded 
to  remain ;  but  when  it  came  to  the  closing  sentence,  he 
could  bear  it  no  longer.    How  the  parson  found  him  out, 
he  could  not  imagine ;  but  to  the  amazement  of  the  con- 
gregation, just  as  the  minister  was  about  to  close  the 
Bible,  John  sprang  up,  tore  open  his  coat  and  shirt,  pulled 
out  the  sausages  and  threw  them  into  the  aisle.     '  There, 
parson,'  he  exclaimed  indignantly,  'you  do  make  the 
greatest  fuss  about  a  few  sausages,'  and  before  any  one 
could  stop  him,  he  was  out  of  the  house." 

This  afternoon  I  resumed  my  reading  at  Dame  Street- 
er's.     She  was  loud  in  her  praise  of  Mr.  Gordon.     The 
5 


50  THE    FIRST   AND   THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES', 

old  lady  is  a  cripple  from  chronic  rheumatism,  and  can- 
not rise  from  her  chair,  to  save  her  life.  She  says  that 
before  he  commenced  reading,  he  remarked  it  was  his 
custom  to  pray  for  a  blessing  to  attend  him  in  whatever 
he  undertook,  and  if  she  were  willing,  he  would  unite 
with  her  in  prayer.  "  'Twas  a  real  feast  to  my  soul,"  she 
added,  a  tear  dropping  upon  her  withered  hand.  I  wiped 
it  away,  and  asked  what  he  read. 

"  Oh,"  she  answered,  "  he  read  from  the  beautifulest 
book, « Imitation  of  Christ,'  there  'tis  on  the  table,  and  he 
said  if  Miss  Susan  wouldn't  consider  him  interfering, 
he'd  be  pleased  to  come  in  occasionally,  and  repeat  his 
call.  I  said  I  knew  you  wouldn't  mind,  only  if  you 
didn't  come  together,  and  then  I  told  him  how  many 
years  you'd  read  to  me,  ever  since  you  was  a  very  little 
thing,  and  on  Wednesday  afternoon  too,  when  that  was 
your  holiday.  Oh !  don't  you  think  I  ever  forget  it ;  and 
I  showed  him  the  tumbler  with  them  tree  lamplighters 
as  I  call  'em,  and  told  him  you  made  'em  when  you  was 
eight  years  old,  and  what  a  sight  I  set  by  'em,  and  I'd 
kept  'em  choice  ever  since." 

"Oh,  Dame,"  I  exclaimed,  "how  could  you!  What 
did  he  say?" 

"  Never  a  word,"  she  replied,  «  but  he  took  the  cracked 
tumbler  and  blowed  out  the  dust,  and  looked  as  pleased 
as  ever  you  see." 

It  is  my  birth  day.  I  am  seventeen  years  old.  I  am 
very  happy,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  I  am  sad  to  think 
I  have  lived  so  long  to  so  little  purpose.  «  I  do  wonder 
how  old  Mr.  Gordon  is,"  Eleanor  asked  me  last  night 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  51 

had  never  thought  of  it  before ;  but  I  told  her  about  as 
old  as  father.  She  laughed  heartily  at  me  when  she 
found  I  really  thought  so,  and  said  she  thought  him 
about  thirty.  I  mean  to  ask  Thomas  to  find  out. 

This  morning  father  called  me  into  his  study,  and 
talked  with  me  for  a  long  time,  or  rather  to  me,  for  I  was 
so  much  affected  by  his  kind  tone  and  earnest  manner, 
that  I  could  not  help  shedding  tears.  He  says  he  wants 
me  to  begin  the  new  year,  by  giving  myself  to  the 
Saviour ;  that  I  cannot  begin  too  soon  to  love  and  serve 
him  who  died  for  me ;  that  God  has  given  me  talents, 
and  every  day  during  these  long  years,  he  has  asked  me 
to  use  them  for  him,  and  he  inquired  of  me  if  I  had  com- 
plied with  these  oft  repeated  commands.  I  sobbed  so 
much  I  could  only  shake  my  head  in  reply.  Then  he 
prayed  for  me  so  tenderly,  and  represented  my  whole 
case  so  exactly,  that  I  longed  to  be  a  Christian.  When 
we  arose,  he  presented  me  with  an  elegant  Bible,  with 
neat  silver  clasps,  just  such  an  one  as  I  always  have 
wanted,  to  carry  to  Sabbath  school,  and  wished  me  to 
read  in  it  every  morning  and  night,  if  it  was  only  one 
verse,  which  I  readily  promised.  He  showed  me  places 
that  he  had  marked ;  one  of  them,  the  fifty-first  psalm,  I 
have  just  read.  It  has  made  me  feel  very  solemn,  and  I 
mean  to  try  to  be  better  than  I  have  been.  I  wish  I 
were  prepared  to  die.  It  makes  me  shudder  to  think  that 
what  father  said  may  be  true,  and  this  may  be  my  last 
birth-day.  Before  the  year  expires,  my  body  may  be 
resting  in  the  grave.  Where  would  my  soul  be  then  ?  I 
wish  I  were  as  good  as  Dame  Streeter.  And  I  mean  to 
pray  to  God  to  make  me  so. 


CHAPTER    V. 

THOMAS  AND  HIS   CLASSMATES. 

OH  how  very  happy  I  am !  I  never  had  so  good  a 
birth-day,  as  yesterday.  As  I  was  writing  in  the  morn- 
ing, mother  came  to  my  door  with  Gracie.  She  looked 
very  smiling,  and  said  she  had  brought  me  a  birth-day 
present,  and  then  she  held  up  sister  to  give  me  seventeen 
kisses.  After  that,  I  placed  the  rocking  chair  for  her,  as 
she  said  she  wished  to  have  some  talk  with  me ;  then  she 
gave  me  permission  to  take  Gracie,  and  have  all  the  care 
of  her  clothes.  I  am  to  have  her  bureau  moved  into  my 
room,  and  she  is  to  sleep  with  me.  Little  darling !  how  I 
have  longed  for  this  time  to  come,  how  sweetly  I  slept 
last  night  with  her  in  my  arms.  I  lay  a  long  time 
resolving  to  be  very  kind  and  gentle  with  her.  But  I 
have  not  yet  told  half  my  happiness.  The  mail  comes 
in  at  eleven  o'clock,  and  Thomas  generally  goes  to  the 
office  just  before  dinner.  We  were  all  in  the  sitting- 
room,  waiting  for  dinner,  which  Nancy  was  bringing 
upon  the  table,  when  I  happened  to  look  from  the  win- 
dow and  saw  Thomas  coming  very  rapidly  toward  the 
house.  As  soon  as  he  perceived  me,  he  held  up  two  let- 
ters, and  with  one  bound  jumped  over  the  gate  into  the 
yard,  which  was  a  favorite  habit  with  him  formerly,  but 
which  he  has  not  done  once  since  he  returned.  He 
sprang  into  the  room,  his  eyes  sparkling,  and  his  whole 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  53 

countenance  flushed  with  pleasure,  walked  quickly  up  to 
father,  put  one  of  the  letters  into  his  hand,  and  said  witb 
great  emotion,  "  There,  Sir !  It  has  turned  out  just  as 
you  said  it  would." 

Father  put  on  his  glasses,  and  began  to  read,  but  some 
how  he  couldn't  see  after  the  first  few  lines,  and  putting 
it  into  mother's  hands,  he  went  quickly  back  to  the  study. 
I  know  he  went  there  to  tell  God  how  thankful  he  was 
that  his  son's  character  for  truth  and  soberness,  had  been 
brought  to  light.  Mother  was  so  much  affected,  that  she 
sat  down  in  the  rocking-chair  while  she  read,  and  the 
tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks.  Dear  Thomas  put  his 
arm  around  me,  just  as  he  used  to,  and  let  me  read  his 
letter,  which  was  from  his  class.  I  was  so  glad  that  I 
put  my  arms  around  his  neck,  and  kissed  him  ever  so 
many  times,  and  told  him  I  was  rejoiced  it  had  happened 
on  my  birth-day.  It  was  the  very  best  celebration  I 
could  have.  Soon  father  returned  to  the  room,  and  Mr. 
Gordon  caught  his  hand,  and  began  to  say  something, 
but  I  couldn't  hear  what,  his  voice  was  so  low,  and  I 
saw  that  his  eyes  were  moist.  Then  he  shook  hands 
with  mother  and  brother,  and  congratulated  them  on  the 
happy  termination  of  this  sad  affair.  He  even  kissed 
Gracie,  but  he  only  looked  at  me. 

"  But,"  said  father^  "  How  was  this  found  out.  Did 
tutor  Brown  discover  his  mistake  ?  " 

"  Poor  Mr.  Brown,"  repeated  brother,  "  is  tutor  no 
longer !  A  piece  of  glass  it  is  supposed  went  into  his 
eye,  and  he  has  almost  lost  the  use  of  it.  He  resigned 
his  situation  last  week.  I  have  a  letter  from  my  chum, 
written  by  request  of  the  class,  and  signed  not  only  by 
5* 


54  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND   MARRIAGES  J 

them,  but  by  a  number  of  Juniors,  and  your  friend,  Henry 
Wells,  Susy,  among  the  Seniors.  If  you  like,  I  will  read 
it  to  you,  while  you  are  eating  dinner,  for  my  appetite 
has  entirely  gone." 

As  we  all  signified  our  desire  to  hear  it,  brother  com- 
menced reading,  though  he  said,  "Henry  Stanwood 
would  cashier  me,  if  he  knew  it." 

"  To  Thomas  Warren,  Esquire,  Sophomore. 
Dear  chum. 

"  I  am  appointed  by  the  class,  a  committee  to  commu- 
nicate to  you  a  statement  made  to  the  whole  College  at 
prayers  assembled  this  twenty-eighth  day  of  June,  Anno 
Domini,  18 — . 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  you  will  dance  the  last  cotillon, 
when  you  read  it,  and  make  the  old  parsonage  resound 
with  three  cheers  for  your  alma  mater.  Well,  old  fellow, 
you'll  not  be  alone  with  your  cheers,  for  just  as  soon  as 
we  were  out  of  prayers,  we  sent  up  as  hearty  three  times 
three,  three  more,  for  "  Thomas  Warren,  Soph.,  restored 
to  life  and  liberty,"  as  ever  made  the  welkin  ring. 

"  Hawes  (who  by  the  way  has  acted  nobly,)  says  he 
stood  near  the  President,  and  he  can  swear  to  it,  that  the 
good  man  joined  in  it,  as  he  stood  with  his  hat  off,  on 
the  steps  of  the  chapel. 

"  The  course  he  has  pursued,  has  rendered  him  a  greater 
favorite  with  the  students  than  ever.  But  I  forget  that 
you  don't  know  any  of  the  circumstances  of  your  vindi- 
cation, and  I  can  assure  you,  there  is  not  much  else  talked 
of,  in  College,  at  the  present  time.  Well,  to  commence ; 
you  remember  Stiles,  that  little  fellow  who  stammers  so. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  55 

It  happened  extremely  well  for  you,  that  the  day  you 
made  so  unfortunate  a  call  upon  Hawes,  he  was  "  spit- 
ting the  goose,"  and  had  only  time  to  retreat  with  his 
booty  under  the  bed,  when  you  entered.  He  heard 
Hawes  invite  you,  and  he  also  distinctly  heard  you 
decline,  saying,  "  you  had  pledged  your  word  to  the  Pres- 
ident, and  you  wouldn't  break  it,  for  your  right  hand." 
Ever  since  you  left,  the  poor  fellow  has  looked  as  puny 
as  a  whipped  dog.  At  last  he  wanted  to  go  home,  and 
said  he  was  sick,  but  on  the  third  day,  which  was  day 
before  yesterday,  he  came  posting  back,  and  requested  an 
audience  with  the  President.  I  can't  help  laughing  to 
think  how  the  little  fellow  must  have  quaked  in  his 
shoes ;  but  he  went  through  it  like  a  martyr ;  and  he  told 
the  President  what  he  heard  you  say.  Just  as  soon  as 
your  name  was  mentioned,  the  good  man  started  for- 
ward, and  listened  intently,  and  then  asked,  "  will  you 
repeat  that  remark?"  Stiles  did  repeat  it,  when  the 
good  man  heaved  a  great  sigh,  that  Stiles  says,  would 
have  filled  the  sails  of  a  small  schooner.  Stiles  also  told 
him  that  he  was  present  in  the  night,  when  you  rushed 
into  the  room,  and  saw  you  try  to  get  the  bottle  from 
Holmes,  who  was  just  drunk  enough  to  want  to  fight, 
and  that  he  heard  tutor  Brown  call  you  a  rascally 
drunken  brute.  Stiles  said  you  started  forward  as  if  you 
were  going  to  fight  him,  and  then  your  arms  dropped  to 
your  side,  and  you  stood  and  heard  all  his  abuse,  and 
never  spoke  a  word ;  but  as  soon  as  he  had  done,  left  the 
room.  He  told  the  President  that  the  smell  of  wine  al- 
ways made  him  sick,  and  that  he  was  the  only  one  in 
the  room  who  was  not  intoxicated,  or  the  others  would 


56  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

never  have  been  willing  to  have  you  suffer  for  their  dis- 
grace. The  President  turned  very  pale,  and  when  he 
had  done,  told  him  he  thanked  him  for  the  confession, 
and  that  he  should  wish  to  have  some  further  conversa- 
tion with  him  hereafter,  for  he  entertained  a  high  opinion 
of  a  young  man  who  had  courage  to  make  such  a  state- 
ment, and  then  he  requested  him  to  say  nothing  to  any 
one,  for  the  present,  but  to  tell  Hawes  to  call  on  him 
directly. 

"  He  asked  Hawes  if  it  were  true,  that  Warren  declined 
his  invitation,  and  Hawes  said  it  was,  and  repeated  your 
very  words.  President  dismissed  him  without  another 
word,  and  in  half  an  hour,  was  on  his  way  to  see  tutor 
Brown,  who  resigned  his  place  last  week,  and  is  staying 
,  with  a  physician,  about  three  miles  distant.  (By  the  way 
the  fellows  have  found  out  that  the  reason  of  his  being 
so  cross  that  night,  or  of  his  being  at  home  at  all,  was 
because  he'd  got  the  mitten.)  Poor  Brown  couldn't  be 
convinced  but  what  you  threw  the  bottle,  and  so  to-day 
the  President  took  Stiles  and  went  again,  when  some 
how  between  them,  they  managed  to  convince  him,  that 
he  must  have  been  mistaken ;  and  tutor  Brown  even 
acknowledged  that  he  had  seen  you  rush  down  the  stairs 
into  the  room,  and  that  he  probably  had  been  too  hasty. 
Stiles  says  the  President  did  not  blame  him,  but  only 
said,  "  It  will  be  a  lesson  to  me,"  (which  I  think  was  the 
most  cutting  remark  he  could  have  made,)  and  after  par- 
ticular inquiries  about  his  eye,  which  they  fear  has  glass 
in  it,  left  him,  and  this  morning,  as  I  told  you,  we  had 
the  result  of  said  conference  after  prayers. 

"  Now,  chum,  don't  be  impatient,  for  I  haven't  told  you 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  57 

half.  Our  class  got  together  to  plan  a  reception  for  you. 
In  the  midst  of  our  confab,  Wells  came  in  and  told  us 
that  you  were  a  townsman  of  his,  (and  1  '  guess,'  from 
what  he  didn't  say,  that  he  aspires  to  being  nearer  re- 
lated) and  that  you  was  a  favorite  with  the  whole  col- 
lege, and  that  if  we  would  get  leave  of  the  Faculty,  that 
they  would  make  up  a  purse  to  have  you  escorted  into 
town  in  due  style.  The  long  and  short  of  it  was,  that 
they  appointed  your  humble  servant  to  wait  upon  the 
venerable  body  and  ask  permission.  If  I  do  say  it,  I  did 
the  thing  up  handsomely,  and  spoke  two  words  for  you 
and  one  for  myself.  I  told  them  what  was  the  wish  of 
the  class,  and  of  others  out  of  the  class,  taking  care  to 
mention  some  prominent  ones  among  the  Seniors ;  '  but, 
gentlemen,'  said  I, '  IVIr.  Warren  is  a  very  orderly  young 
manr  and  he  would  not  enjoy  any  such  parade  unless 
informed  that  it  met  with  your  approbation.  Neither,' 
added  I  modestly,  '  should  I  wish  to  be  engaged  in  it.' 
I  touched  the  right  chord  then,  you  may  be  sure  (and 
I've  pretty  much  concluded  since  then  to  be  a  lawyer,  1 
think  that  was  so  'cute). 

"  The  President  said  at  once,  '  I  presume  I  represent 
your  views,  gentlemen,  when  I  say  that  such  an  expres- 
sion of  feeling  will  not  only  be  consistent  with  our  wishes, 
but  that  we  expected  that  some  measures  would  be 
taken  to  show  the  young  man  that  our  confidence  in  him 
is  entirely  restored.' 

"  They  all  bowed.  '  What  is  proposed  ? '  asked  Pro- 
fessor L . 

" '  We  have  decided  upon  nothing  definite,'  I  answered ; 


58  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND   MARRIAGES; 

'the  class  are  waiting  for  me  to  return.      Wells   sug- 
gested illuminating.' 

«<  Very  good,'  replied  the  President  sinning,  'only  k 
it  be  seen  that  it  is  done  out  of  respect  for  a  young  man 
who  is  orderly^  he  added  pleasantly,  as  I  retired 
their  august  presence. 

«  But  it  is  high  time  for  me  to  conclude  my  k 
epistle,  if  I  wish  to  send  it  by  to-day's  mail.  So  I  will 
merely  add,  that  we  wish  you  to  drop  us  a  line  saying 
that  you  will  be  in  town  at  the  -  -  Hotel,  which  is  . 
mile  from  CoUege,  on  Friday  evening  at  six  o'clock,  and 
we'll  arrange  to  have  you  escorted  in  triumph  through 
the  town.  When  we  get  opposite  the  President's,  we're 
going  to  stop  and  give  him  three  times  three,  a  cheering 
in  which,  I  have  no  doubt,  you're  longing  to  join.  So 
good-bye  till  I  see  you,  and  don't  be  too  proud  when  you 
are  mounted  in  a  six  horse  chariot,  to  bestow  a  smile 
and  nod  on  your  humble  chum  and  servant, 

HENRY  STAN  WOOD." 

"That's  just  like  Stanwood,"  exclaimed  Thomas, 
«  he's  a  real  good  fellow  ;"  and  we  had  a  hearty  laugh 
at  his  "cuteness"  with  the  Faculty,  as  he  called  it 
Father  spoke  in  the  highest  terms  of  President  -  — , 
who  was  a  classmate  of  his,  and  Thomas  found  it  diffi- 
cult to  eat  a  mouthful  of  dinner,  his  heart  was  so  full  of 
happiness.  After  dinner  he  not  only  danced  a  cotillon 
by  himself  under  the  shade  of  the  trees  in  the  front  yard, 
but  he  made  me  spin  around  until  I  begged  for  mercy, 
for  I  couldn't  see,  and  then  he  ran  up  to  mother's  room 
to  consult  about  his  clothes.  I  followed  him,  and  it  was 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  59 

decided,  as  the  term  is  so  soon  to  close,  (for  Commence- 
ment is  in  four  weeks)  that  he  should  only  take  his  bag, 
with  clothes  to  last  until  then.  He  was  ready  for  an 
early  start  this  morning,  when  the  bell  rang  for  prayers. 
Father  read,  and  then  asked  Mr.  Gordon  to  lead  the 
devotions.  I  never  heard  a  more  solemn  prayer.  He 
particularly  remembered  Thomas,  and  thanked  God  for 
bringing  the  truth  to  light,  and  prayed  that  it  might  be 
the  means  of  making  brother  trust  in  the  Lord  for  all 
future  time ;  and  then  he  prayed  for  me  that  I  might 
begin  this  new  year  with  a  heart  set  apart  to  the  service 
of  my  Maker.  If  he  had  known  all  my  resolutions,  and  all 
my  fears,  he  could  not  have  expressed  them  more  exactly. 
I  was  wholly  overcome  and  sobbed  aloud.  I  hope  the 
impression  may  be  a  lasting  one,  but  I'm  afraid  I  shall 
soon  forget  it;  for  only  yesterday  morning  I  was  so 
desirous  to  be  sober  and  to  do  right,  and  then  the  sur- 
prise about  Thomas  drove  all  my  serious  thoughts  away. 

Dear  brother !  In  what  good  spirits  did  he  leave  us 
after  breakfast.  But  he  did  one  thing  this  morning ;  no, 
two  things,  for  which  he  deserved  to  be  whipped.  We 
were  all  standing  on  the  piazza  waiting  for  the  stage 
coach,  when  he  turned  to  me  and  asked, "  well,  Susy,  what 
shall  I  say  to  Henry,  from  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  I  answered  impatiently.  "  I  have  no  mes- 
sage to  send." 

Mother  saw  Mr.  Gordon  glance  at  me  very  gravely, 
and  she  said,  "  Don't  tease  your  sister,  Thomas." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  brother,  who  has  entirely  recovered  his 
old  teazing  ways,  "  not  for  the  world.  Mr.  Gordon,"  he 
continued,  addressing  him  with  the  utmost  seriousness, 


60  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

"  it  is  a  question  of  grave  importance  with  a  certain  fair 
damsel,  daughter  of  the  house  of  Levi,"  glancing  at  me, 
"  how  many  times  the  seasons  have  succeeded  each  other 
in  their  course,  since  your  entrance  into  this  wilderness 
world." 

I  snatched  my  hand  from  Thomas  and  tried  to  ran 
away.  I  was  really  provoked.  But  he  held  me  fast,  while 
Mr.  Gordon,  with  a  very  precise  bow,  answered,  in  some- 
thing of  the  same  tone, "  I  would  reply  to  the  fair  damsel, 
that  when  a  question  of  solemn  import  comes  before  me, 
it  has  been  my  habit  to  sleep  over  it,  before  I  answer." 

The  gentleman  had  hardly  concluded  his  speech,  when 
the  stage  coach  was  seen  coming  over  the  hill,  and  soon 
reached  the  gate.  "  Write  to-morrow,"  called  out  father, 
as  brother  got  into  the  coach,  "  and  give  us  all  the  particu- 
lars of  your  reception."  Father  and  mother  turned  to  go 
into  the  house  and  I  was  following  them,  when  Mr. 
Gordon  detained  me.  "  Miss  Susan,"  he  remarked,  taking 
my  hand  as  if  he  were  very  much  afraid  of  it,  and  mak- 
ing a  formal  bow,  "  I  shall  feel  honored  to  answer  any 
questions  you  may  wish  to  ask,  but  may  I  beg  of  you  to 
put  them  directly  to  me  ?  My  age  is  twenty-eight  years." 

Oh,  how  strongly  tempted  I  was  to  tell  an  untruth, 
and  say  I  was  not  the  one  who  wished  to  know !  But  as 
I  dared  not  do  that,  I  was  kept  silent  by  mortification 
and  chagrin,  but  his  tone  was  so  kind  and  yet  res- 
pectful, that  I  could  not  be  vexed  with  him.  As  soon  as 
he  released  my  hand  I  hastened  into  the  house  without 
once  daring  to  raise  my  eyes  to  his  face. 

We  have  received  a  long  letter  from  Thomas,  which  I 
shall  transcribe. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  61 

"  Rumford  Hall,  July  1st,  Past  midnight. 
"  To  my  dear  father  and  mother,  and  the  inmates  of 

the  parsonage  generally : 

"  I  cannot  retire  to  rest  until  I  have  given  you  an 
account  of  the  glorious  reception  I  have  met  with,  not 
only  from  my  class,  but  from  every  member  of  the  col- 
lege, including  even  the  Faculty  with  the  noble  President 
at  their  head. 

"  As  I  approached Hotel,  my  heart  began  to  beat 

very  fast  as  I  saw  an  open  photon,  (where  on  earth  the 
feUows  picked  it  up  I  can't  divine,)  with  six  cream  col- 
ored horses  attached  to  it,  standing  before  the  door.  One 
of  the  passengers  exclaimed,  '  there's  a  turn-out  worth 
having.  See,  there's  something  going  on  here.  I  guess 
it's  the  Governor.  Yes,  there  are  his  aids ! ' 

"  I  made  no  reply ;  indeed,  I  had  no  time,  for  I  had 
been  seen,  and  half  a  dozen  fellows  rode  up  to  the  door 
of  the  coach.  Stanwood  made  a  motion  to  those  behind 
him,  and  three  heartier  cheers  never  rent  the  air  than 
were  then  sent  up  to  heaven.  I  was  literally  carried  to 
the  chariot,  but  immediately  got  out  of  it,  and  calling 
Stanwood,  retreated  into  the  hotel,  where  I  endeavored, 
by  brushing  and  washing,  to  render  myself  a  little  more 
fit  to  be  the  hero  of  the  day. 

"  At  ten  minutes  before  six  I  was  seated  in  the  photon 
with  Stanwood,  who  was  the  Chief  Marshall,  by  my 
side,  preceded  by  a  large  cavalcade  extending  a  quarter 
of  a  mile,  and  succeeded  by  a  long  procession  of  men 
-and  boys  from  the  town.  In  accordance  with  the  usage 
of  distinguished  men  on  such  occasions,  I  rode  bare- 
headed, and  as  we  approached  the  colleges  my  handker- 
6 


62  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND     MARRIAGES; 

chief  was  in  constant  requisition  to  respond  to  the  wav- 
ing salutation  from  every  window.  When  we  entered 
the  college  yard  we  found  the  green  literally  covered  with 
students  from  the  upper  classes ;  and  here  I  was  cheered 
by  name  until  my  ears  fairly  ached,  I,  standing  in  the 
carriage  making  my  best  bows,  first  on  one  side  and 
then  on  the  other.  We  then  proceeded  to  the  President's, 
where  the  good  man,  with  his  whole  family,  were  stand- 
ing upon  the  piazza,  and  when  we  approached  waved 
their  friendly  salute.  When  opposite  the  door  the  phae- 
ton stopped,  and  Stanwood  called  out, '  three  times  three 
for  our  glorious  President,'  and  to  this  prolonged  cheer  I 
added  the  full  power  of  my  lungs,  after  which  the 
procession  passed  around  the  common,  and  at  length 
landed  me  safely  at  the  door  of  Rumford  Hall.  In  the 
midst  of  all  my  fatigue  and  excitement,  I  couldn't  help 
being  amused  to  see  how  the  fellows  pressed  up  to  shake 
hands.  One  little  freshman  exclaimed,  '  I  have  shaken 
hands  with  him  twice,'  in  a  tone  as  if  the  fact  were 
worthy  of  being  recorded  on  his  tomb-stone. 

I  was  right  glad  to  be  once  more  in  my  old  study 
chair,  but  Stanwood  and  Stiles,  who  were  present,  said 
I  mustn't  think  of  resting  yet.  There  was  to  be  a  sup- 
per, and  then  I  was  expected  to  make  a  speech  on  the 
green.  I  find  that  the  President  told  Wells  the  circum- 
stances of  my  last  interview  with  him,  and  it  has  spread 
all  over  the  college,  and  I  am  regarded  by  the  students 
somewhat  in  the  light  dear  Susy  regarded  me,  as  being 
a  martyr  to  my  sense  of  honor,  in  not  betraying  the  guilty 
ones.  There  is  nothing  in  college  which  calls  forth  such 
enthusiasm  as  this  trait,  though  I  am  sure  in  my  case  I 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OP    WEDDED    LIFE.  63 

have  done  nothing  to  merit  such  warm  encomiums. 
About  eight  o'clock  a  dozen  class-mates  presented  them- 
selves to  conduct  me  to  supper,  and  when  I  went  back 
from  it,  which  I  did  as  soon  as  I  could  get  away,  the 
front  windows  of  the  colleges  were  brilliantly  illuminated. 
But  what  touched  my  feelings  more  than  all  else,  was 
to  see  that  the  President's  study  had  a  light  in  every 
pane  of  glass.  This  delicate  mode  of  expressing  sympa- 
thy with  the  general  feeling,  called  forth  the  loudest 
acclamations  on  the  part  of  the  students,  to  whom  it  was 
wholly  unexpected.  After  a  number  of  speeches  directed 
to  me,  to  which  I  responded,  though  I  cannot  now 
remember  one  word  I  said,  but  which  appeared  to  give 
universal  satisfaction,  I  at  length  retired  to  the  front 
room  in  the  third  story,  where  I  speedily  divested  myself 
of  the  character  of  a  hero,  and  subsided  into  common 
humanity.  To-morrow  morning  I  shall  carry  your  let- 
ter, dear  father,  to  the  President,  after  which  I  intend  to 
devote  myself  to  preparation  for  examination.  Susy,  I 
hope,  will  take  a  lesson  in  meekness  from  her  dear 
brother,  and  not  allow  her  heart  to  be  puffed  up  with 
pride  on  account  of  the  honors  conferred  upon  him.  By 
the  way,  why  wouldn't  Mr.  Gordon  take  her  for  a  pupil 
in  my  place  ?  It  would  be  a  fine  arrangement. 

"  But  I  must  close  this  long  epistle  by  subscribing  my- 
self your  very  affectionate  son  and  brother, 

THOMAS  WARREN,  JR." 


CHAPTER   VI. 

SICKNESS  AT  THE  PARSONAGE. 

THIS  morning  Eleanor  came  with  an  invitation  from 
her  mother  for  me  to  go  with  them  to  —  — ,  to  Com- 
mencement, which  is  next  week.  They  are  to  go  in 
their  own  carryall,  and  as  there  will  be  a  spare  seat,  they 
thought  it  might  be  pleasant  for  me  to  go  with  them. 
Mother  could  not  decide  at  once,  but  thanked  Eleanor 
for  their  kindness,  and  is  to  let  them  know  to-morrow. 
Henry  has  an  oration,  at  which  his  parents  are  much 
pleased.  Mother  mentioned  the  proposal  to  father  at 
the  dinner  table. 

"  Well,  Susy,"  said  he,  "  do  you  wish  very  much  to 
hear  Henry's  oration  ?  or  will  you  stay  with  your  mother 
while  I  am  absent  ?  " 

"  Where  are  you  going,  sir  ?  "  I  asked  in  surprise. 

"  It  is  the  time  for  the  meeting  of  our  association,  and  I 
shall  be  obliged  to  be  away  from  home  two  nights.  You 
will  accompany  me,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Gordon,"  said  father, 
addressing  him. 

"  I  cannot  yet  decide,  sir,"  replied  the  gentleman,  with 
uncommon  seriousness. 

"  What  do  you  say,  my  daughter  ?"  repeated  father. 

« I  say,  as  Mr.  Gordon  did,  that  I  cannot  yet  decide. 
If  you  and  he  are  both  away  from  home,  I  should  not, 
of  course,  leave  mother;  otherwise,  I  should  have 

(64) 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  65 

enjoyed  it  very  much,  as  I  never  have  attended  Com- 
mencement." 

"  And  you  would  like  to  hear  our  youthful  orator  ?  " 
suggested  he,  smiling. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  answered,  looking  into  my  plate,  "  foi 
Eleanor's  sake  I  should  like  to  hear  him,  and  to  have  him 
succeed  well." 

"  If  my  staying  from  the  association  will  give  you 
pleasure  by  enabling  you  to  accompany  your  friend,  I 
will  do  so,"  remarked  Mr.  Gordon,  with  a  bow  to  me.  I 
was  actually  startled  as  he  said  this,  to  observe  an  ex- 
pression of  pain  passing  over  his  countenance.  What 
could  have  caused  it  ? 

It  is  nearly  five  months  since  I  have  written  in  my 
journal.  How  much  has  occurred  during  that  time  !  I 
was  writing  about  Commencement.  Thomas  wrote  a 
letter  to  mother  urging  her  to  let  me  go,  and  she  con- 
sented. On  Monday  afternoon  father  left  for  Cheswell, 
where  the  association  met.  I  was  to  go  on  Tuesday 
morning,  and  my  clothes  were  all  packed  in  Eleanor's 
trunk,  as  we  were  to  remain  together.  When  I  went  to 
bed  on  Monday  night,  dear  little  Gracie  seemed  very 
restless.  I  called  mother,  who  was  really  alarmed  at  the 
quickness  of  her  pulse  and  the  shortness  of  her  breath- 
ing. I  carried  her  to  mother's  bed,  and  in  a  few  mo- 
ments she  vomited  freely.  This  we  thought  would  re- 
lieve her ;  but  on  the  contrary  she  grew  rapidly  worse, 
and  though  I  said  nothing  about  it,  I  immediately  gave 
up  all  thought  of  leaving  home.  It  was  nearly  eleven, 
when  at  mother's  request  I  reluctantly  knocked  at  Mr. 
fi* 


66  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

Gordon's  door,  to  ask  him  to  go  for  the  Doctor.     He 
had  not  retired,  and  immediately  answered  my  summons. 
When  I  told  him  Grace  was  sick,  he  instantly  t< 
hat,  saying,  «  and  your  mother  wishes  a  physician  ? ' 
«  Yes,  sir,"  I  answered,  and  he  left  the  house. 
Poor  Grade  was  delirious  all  night,  and  mother  never 
smiled  after  the  physician  told  her  it  was  the  scarlet 
fever.     I  can't  imagine  what  we  could  have  done  witl 
out   Mr.   Gordon.       More  than  half  the  day  Tuesday 
he  carried  the  dear  little  creature  in  his  arms,  as  that 
seemed  to  soothe  her  more  than  anything  else,  and  what 
was  very  strange  to  me,  he  tried  to  make  me  promise  not 
to  be  over  her,  or  take  her  breath. 

"Why,"  I  asked!  "  Mother  and  you  do  not  hesitate 
to  be  near  her." 

Neither  your  mother  nor  myself  are  half  as  likely  to 
take  it  as  you  are,"  he  answered  with  emotion.  "  You 
are  young  and  full  of  vigor." 

«  But  I  cannot  be  so  selfish  as  to  think  of  myself  when 
my  sweet  little  Grade  is  suffering,"  and  I  could  not 
help  shedding  tears  as  I  realized  that  she  might  never  be 
better. 

"  The  sweet  child  shall  not  want  for  any  attention 
that  I  can  render,"  he  answered  impressively ;  and  we 
soon  found  that  he  was  invaluable  in  the  sick  room.  I 
never  thought  then  of  his  stiffness.  Indeed  it  seemed 
to  have  wholly  disappeared.  Nothing  could  exceed  the 
tenderness  with  which  he  soothed  the  little  sufferer,  wet- 
ting her  mouth  or  washing  out  her  throat  as  the  Doctor 
had  ordered,  and  then  he  held  her  so  tenderly  as  he 
walked  back  and  forth  through  the  two  large  rooms 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  67 

opened  for  her  use,  singing  in  a  low  voice  the  sweetest 
of  lullaby's,  that  mother  was  relieved  of  all  but  the  dread- 
ful load  of  anxiety,  which  pressed  so  heavily  upon  her. 
Mr.  Gordon  took  it  upon  himself  to  say  that  Edward 
must  not  enter  the  part  of  the  house  where  Gracie  was 
sick,  and  upon  one  pretext  or  another,  he  kept  me  from 
the  room  as  much  as  possible. 

Father  came  home  on  Wednesday  noon,  and  by  that 
time,  there  was  little  hope  that  our  precious  baby  would 
ever  be  better,  though  at  the  time  I  little  dreamed  of  this. 
Dear  father  was  overcome  with  grief,  at  this  sudden  an- 
nouncement, and  was  at  first  unable  to  take  any  share  in 
the  onerous  duties  Mr.  Gordon  had  assumed.  But  when 
he  saw  mother,  though  pale  and  bowed  down  with  anx- 
ious care,  strive  to  keep  up  for  the  sake  of  her  child,  he 
roused  himself  to  exertion.  I  remember  well  Mr.  Gor- 
don's prayer  that  night.  "  Spare  the  life  of  the  child  if 
in  thine  infinite  wisdom  thou  seest  it  would  be  for  her 
good,  and  for  the  spiritual  benefit  of  this  beloved  family. 
Above  all  prepare  them  in  whatever  events  may  be  before 
them,  to  say, '  thy  will,  not  mine  be  done.' " 

I  recollect  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday,  how  his  voice 
trembled,  and  how  unwilling  I  was  to  repeat  in  my  heart 
the  language  of  his  prayer.  From  her  first  attack,  I  had 
cried,  "  oh,  God,  spare  her  life !  But  I  had  no  faith  in 
my  own  prayers.  I  depended  upon  his  and  mother's ; 
now  it  seemed  to  me,  that  he  was  giving  her  up,  and  I 
hastened  from  the  room,  and  flew  to  the  side  of  her  bed, 
.to  see  if  she  were  indeed  so  very  ill.  I  have  had  little 
experience  in  sickness,  and  to  me  as  she  lay  quietly  with 
her  eyes  partly  closed,  she  seemed  much  better.  My 


68  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

tears  however  fell  thick  and  fast,  as  I  gazed  upon  her 
emaciated  face,  and  heard  mother's  low  sobs,  as  she  sat 
holding  the  little  feverish  hand.  The  physician  soon  en- 
tered with  father,  and  something  in  his  serious,  sympa- 
thizing expression,  appeared  to  me  to  say  there  was  cause 
for  great  alarm.  I  could  bear  the  suspense  no  longer ; 
but  with  a  burst  of  tears,  I  ran  from  the  room,  caught 
my  sun-bonnet  from  the  rack,  and  fled  from  the  house. 
I  don't  know  where  I  wanted  to  go,  I  only  wished  to  be 
alone,  and  to  give  vent  to  my  grief.  By  request  of 
father,  Mr.  Gordon  followed  me ;  but  he  did  not  let  me 
perceive  his  approach,  until  I  had  exhausted  myself  with 
my  violent  weeping.  I  was  sitting  on  the  ground,  and 
had  thrown  my  arms  upon  the  little  mound,  where  on  a 
former  occasion,  poor  Thomas  told  me  his  trouble.  My 
sobs  had  been  so  violent,  that  I  began  to  feel  very  faint, 
when  I  heard  a  low  voice  close  to  my  side,  saying,  "  Miss 
Susan,  you  will  make  yourself  sick,  if  you  give  way  to 
your  grief.  Let  me  conduct  you  home ;  you  ate  no  sup- 
per, and  after  losing  your  sleep  for  two  nights,  I  fear — 
you —  " 

I  glanced  up  into  his  face  as  he  spoke,  and  the  words 
seemed  less  and  less  distinct,  until  I  entirely  lost  the 
sound.  I  had  fainted. 

The  next  I  knew,  I  was  lying  upon  the  sofa  in  our  par- 
lor, and  the  Doctor  was  holding  some  ammonia  to  my 
nostrils,  while  Mr.  Gordon  bathed  my  hands. 

I  started  in  surprise,  and  for  a  moment  could  not  think 
where  I  was ;  but  then  the  whole  truth  burst  upon  me, 
and  I  asked  eagerly,  «  Gracie !  How  is  Gracie  ?  " 

"  She  is  no  worse."  said  the  physician  quickly,  but  I 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  69 

sprang  up,  and  insisted  upon  going  to  her.  Mr.  Gordon 
however  would  not  allow  it,  until  I  had  taken  something 
to  eat,  and  he  went  himself  to  the  closet,  and  brought 
me  some  bread  and  butter. 

"  You  cannot  leave  the  sofa,  Miss  Susan,"  said  he 
firmly,  "  until  you  have  eaten  all  that  I  have  brought 
you." 

I  complied ;  I  dared  not  do  otherwise.  There  was  a 
look  in  his  eye  that  said  plainly  that  he  was  accustomed 
to  be  obeyed. 

"  Mr.  Gordon,"  I  said  at  length  as  I  suddenly  noticed 
how  very  pallid  he  was,  "  you  too,  ought  to  take  some- 
thing, you  look  sick." 

"  I  will  do  so,"  he  answered,  and  he  went  to  the  closet 
and  took  a  tumbler  of  milk. 

"  Now,  may  I  go  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied  gravely,  "  you  can  be  of  no  use  there, 
and  you  will  of  course  only  remain  a  few  moments.  But 
if  you  will  try  to  sleep,  I  will  promise  to  send  to  you,  if 
there  is  any  change  for  the  worse." 

Without  a  word,  I  returned  to  the  chamber,  where  I 
found  the  physician,  who  had  consented  to  remain 
through  the  night.  He  too  insisted  that  I  should  go  to 
bed,  and  after  one  long,  long"  look  at  my  darling  sister,  I 
went  softly  down  stairs,  and  threw  myself  upon  the  sofa. 
I  must  have  fallen  asleep  very  soon,  for  some  one  came 
in  and  threw  a  shawl  over  my  shoulders  without  arous- 
ing me ;  and  I  did  not  awake,  until  the  clock  in  the  room 
was  striking  five.  Then  I  sprang  up,  and  was  going  to 
run  to  inquire  for  Gracie.  The  house  was  so  still  that  I 
was  struck  with  awe  as  the  thought  stole  over  me,  "  per- 


70  THE    FIRST   AND   THE   SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

haps  she  is  not  living,"  and  I  sat  down  again  for  one 
minute,  to  collect  my  strength.  The  door  opened  gently, 
and  Mr.  Gordon  entered.  I  started  to  my  feet  and  stood 
before  him,  but  I  could  not  utter  a  word.  He  took  my 
hand  tenderly,  as  he  said,  "  compose  yourself,"  that  I  had 
no  longer  any  doubt,  and  finding  my  strength  failing,  I 
tried  to  resume  my  seat.  He  caught  hold  of  my  arm, 
and  placed  me  on  the  sofa,  and  then  sat  down  by  my 
side. 

"  Gracie  is  quietly  sleeping  now,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice. 

I  leaned  forward  to  gaze  into  his  face.  I  was  almost 
suffocated  with  emotion,  as  I  understood  him  to  mean, 
in  death. 

"  No,"  he  added  with  deep  feeling,  as  he  saw  what  I 
feared,  "  the  crisis  has  passed,  and  she  is  now  in  a  natural 
slumber." 

The  transition  was  so  very  sudden,  that  I  was  wholly 
unprepared  for  it,  and  sobbed  aloud.  He  drew  nearer  to 
me,  and,  gently  as  a  father,  laid  my  head  upon  his  shoul- 
der, where  he  whispered  a  low  prayer  of  thanksgiving  for 
me.  I  soon  became  composed,  and  went  to  the  sick 
room,  where  I  found  it  was  indeed  as  he  had  said. 

Mother  had  just  gone  to  lie  down,  and  Doctor  L 

was  leaving  the  chamber.  I  heard  Mr.  Gordon  go  out  of 
his  room,  which  he  had  just  entered,  and  follow  him 
down  stairs.  I  asked  father  in  a  whisper  to  lie  down 
upon  the  couch,  while  I  seated  myself  by  the  bed,  with  a 
fan  to  keep  off  the  flies  from  the  little  sufferer.  She  slept 
for  half  an  hour,  and  father  slept  too,  so  that  I  had  time 
to  lift  up  my  heart  in  gratitude  to  God,  for  sparing  the 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  71 

life  of  my  sister.  Yes,  I  had  time,  and  I  tried  to  do  so ; 
but  I  knew  she  had  not  been  spared  in  answer  to  my 
prayers  ;  and  it  seemed  wickegl  for  me  to  pray.  I  had  a 
great  many  thoughts  of  death  while  I  sat  there  ;  as  what 
if  I  had  been  the  sick  one,  how  differently  my  parents 
would  have  felt,  because  they  know  I  am  not  prepared 
to.  die.  When  Gracie  awoke,  her  first  sound  aroused 
father,  and  he  started  to  her  side  and  gave  her  the  medi- 
cine the  Doctor  ordered.  I  was  almost  beside  myself 
with  joy,  to  find  that  she  recognized  us,  and  tried  to 
speak  our  names.  After  that,  she  very  slowly  gained  for 
a  few  days,  and  then  more  rapidly. 

Thomas  arrived  on  Thursday,  and  was  greatly  affected 
at  the  change  which  had  taken  place  in  his  favorite.  But 
on  the  very  night  of  his  arrival  the  Doctor  was  again 
hastily  summoned,  and  this  time  for  Mr.  Gordon.  He 
had  reluctantly  confessed  the  day  previous  that  he  was  not 
well,  and  added  that  he  had  taken  the  liberty  to  ask 
Nancy  to  make  him  a  bowl  of  gruel  for  his  dinner;  but 
after  he  and  brother  had  retired  to  rest,  he  was  violently 
seized  with  pleurisy  in  his  side,  which  soon  became  so 
severe,  that  every  breath  was  a  groan.  Brother  called 
father,  and  ran  in  haste  for  the  physician,  and  by  the  ap- 
plication of  a  blister,  before  morning  he  was  considerably 
relieved. 

The  poor  man  expressed  great  regret  that  he  was  de- 
priving father  and  mother  of  the  rest  they  so  much 
needed,  and  begged  to  be  left  with  Thomas.  I  was  very 
sorry  at  the  time,  and  wished  to  do  something  for  his 
relief;  but  I  should  have  felt  worse  had  I  known  what  I 
did  afterwards,  that  his  disease  was  brought  on  by 


72  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

a  strain  he  received,  in  bringing  me  from  the  grove.  Mr. 
Gordon  was  greatly  displeased  that  the  Doctor  should 
have  told  father  of  it,  as  he  said  it  was  nothing  perma- 
nent. For  nearly  a  week  he  kept  his  room,  during  which 
time  I  hardly  saw  him,  indeed  not  at  all  except  as  I 
passed  his  door  to  sister's  room ;  but  I  prepared  all  his 
meals,  and  arranged  everything  on  a  waiter,  as  nicely  as 
possible,  for  Thomas  to  carry  to  him.  Brother  said  he 
told  him  one  day  that  it  would  be  a  favor  to  me,  if  he 
would  ask  for  some  kind  of  food,  for  that  it  took  all  my 
time  to  contrive  something  that  he  could  relish.  Mr. 
Gordon,  he  said,  was  very  much  pleased,  and  asked  if  I 
were  the  one  who  prepared  so  many  dainty  dishes.  He 
sent  me  word  that  if  I  wished  him  to  get  well  quickly,  I 
must  not  tempt  his  appetite  so  much.  So  the  next  day, 
as  Thomas  said  he  had  a  bad  headache,  I  only  sent  up 
two  toasted  crackers  and  a  cup  of  tea,  with  the  message 
that  he  could  have  no  more.  I  was  passing  the  door, 
and  heard  him  say,  "  very  wise,  I  shall  strictly  follow  her 
directions." 

And  now  I  must  write  something  very  disagreeable, 
though  I  have  been  dreading  to  come  to  it.  Gracie  was 
gaining  fast,  and  Thomas  had  carried  her  in  his  arms  for 
two  or  three  visits  to  her  kind  friend,  when  the  Doctor 
gave  him  permission  to  leave  his  room.  It  was  about 
ten  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Henry  Wells  had  only  come 
home  the  previous  night,  and  was  sitting  by  me  on  the 
sofa  in  the  parlor.  I  have  always  known  Henry,  and  I 
love  him  very  much,  but  some  how  that  morning  I 
thought  him  inclined  to  take  too  much  for  granted.  He 
said,  «  Dear  Susy,  I  shall  soon  study  my  profession,  and 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  73 

then  we  must  have  a  home  of  our  own."  He  had  taken 
my  hand,  and  I  was  just  going  to  tell  him  that  I  was  a 
great  deal  too  young  to  think  of  such  things,  when  I  • 
looked  up  and  saw  Mr.  Gordon  at  the  door.  I  never 
knew  a  man  more  changed  by  a  week's  sickness,  and  he 
actually  staggered,  as  he  tried  to  get  into  the  sitting- 
room.  I  left  Henry  in  the  parlor,  and  followed  him,  and 
would  not  go  back,  until  Mr.  Gordon  said,  «  I  have  over- 
rated my  strength,"  and  requested  me  to  ask  Thomas  to 
assist  him  up  stairs. 

That  night  I  cried  myself  to  sleep  because  I  couldn't 
tell  whether  I  loved  Henry  or  not,  and  the  next  morning 
I  was  sick  with  a  headache,  which  proved  to  be  the  first 
symptom  of  the  scarlet  fever.  For  nearly  a  week  I  was 
delirious  most  of  the  time,  though  I  did  not  have  it  half 
as  severely  as  sister.  Nurse  Hall  came  to  take  care  of 
me,  as  mother  was  quite  exhausted.  Thomas  says  every 
time  he  left  my  room,  he  had  to  give  an  exact  account 
of  my  present  state  and  symptoms  to  his  chum,  as  he 
called  Mr.  Gordon,  who  was  keeping  a  list  of  them  and 
the  prescriptions  of  the  physician,  for  his  future  benefit. 

But  I  hardly  think  he  could  have  been  very  anxious 

about  me,  for  just  as  soon  as  I  recovered,  he  went  away, 

and  after  being  absent  a  month,  he  returned,  but  so 

altered  that  I  could  scarce  believe  he  was  the  same  man. 

During  Gracie's  sickness,  my  fear  of  him  had  wholly 

subsided,  and  I  had  learned  to  love  him  as  a  brother; 

but  now  he  was  so  distant  and  reserved,  that  it  required 

rmore  courage  than  I  possessed,  to  talk  with  him.     And 

so  it  has  gone  on  ever  since ;  sometimes  he  appears  like 

7 


74  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

himself  for  a  day,  and  then  he  again  throws  around  him- 
self this  dreadful  reserve.  To  dear  little  Gracie,  how- 
ever, he  is  always  gentle  and  kind.  I  am  sometimes 
almost  jealous  of  her  affection  for  him.  She  goes  to  him 
as  naturally  as  to  father,  when  he  takes  her  in  his  arms, 
and  whispers  little  stories  to  her.  Then  if  she  is  tired,  he 
turns  back  his  coat,  and  rests  her  little  head  against  his 
satin  vest,  and  while  he  reads,  she  sucks  her  finger,  and 
looks  as  contented  as  heart  could  desire. 

To-day  father  said  something  to  Mr.  Gordon  about 
taking  me  for  a  pupil,  when  he  virtually  declined  the 
honor  of  being  my  tutor.  What  could  be  the  reason  ? 
If  he  had  done  so  when  he  first  came,  I  should  not  won- 
der, for  then  I  was  wild  enough,  but  now  he  cannot  com- 
plain of  me,  neither  does  he  by  word  or  look,  for  he 
scarcely  deigns  the  least  notice  of  me,  and  it  has  come 
to  be  the  fashion  for  me  to  pass  my  plate  to  him,  and  for 
him  to  pass  it  back  without  one  word.  When  I  think 
that  he  brought  me  in  his  arms  from  the  grove,  and  that 
I  laid  my  head  upon  his  shoulder,  and  wept  during  that 
night  of  sorrow,  it  almost  takes  away  my  breath ;  but 
those  days  have  long  past. 

Bessie  has  come  home,  or  the  house  would  be  really 
dull.  She  is  very  much  improved,  and  is  not  at  all 
afraid  to  converse.  She  sits  down  by  Mr.  Gordon  and 
talks  with  him  about  her  school,  just  as  freely  as  she 
would  with  Thomas.  It  sometimes  calls  a  smile  to  his 
face,  to  hear  her  descriptions  of  character.  Now  that  she 
has  come  back,  we  have  resumed  our  habit  of  singing  at 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  75 

prayers,  which  was  broken  up  when  we  were  all  sick. 
Bessie  sings  a  very  good  alto,  while  I  sing  treble.  Father 
takes  the  bass,  and  Mr.  Gordon  tenor,  so  that  we  have 
quite  a  choir. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

THE  MISDIRECTED  LETTER,  AND   OTHER  INCIDENTS. 

POOR  Thomas  has  made  a  mistake  which  I  fear  will 
affect  his  happiness  more  than  his  rustication  from  col- 
lege —  certainly  for  a  longer  period.  When  he  was  at 
home  for  a  week  at  Thanksgiving,  he  had  a  great  deal 
to  say  about  Miss  Allen,  and  since  he  returned,  he  has 
written  me  two  or  three  letters  containing  descriptions 
of  her  loveliness  of  person  and  character ;  but  I  had  no 
idea  that  he  was  serious  in  his  intentions.  Two  days 
ago,  Edward  brought  from  the  Post  Office,  two  letters 
from  him,  one  directed  to  father  and  the  other  to  me. 
Father  opened  his  as  usual  at  the  dinner  table,  and  was 
just  commencing  to  read  it  aloud,  when  with  a  sudden 
flush,  he  stopped,  perused  it  silently  to*  the  end,  then 
folded  it,  and  deliberately  put  it  in  his  pocket,  with  a 
look  half  roguish,  half  troubled. 

"What  is  the  news?"  asked  mother,  "is  Thomas 
well?" 

"  He  is  afflicted  at  present  with  a  sudden  malady,"  re- 
plied father,  with  a  smile.  "  From  the  violence  of  the 
attack,  however,  I  presume  it  will  not  be  very  lasting." 

"  Has  he  got  the  small  pox  ?"  asked  Edward,  in  alarm. 
(He  had  been  much  excited  by  hearing  that  there  had 
been  cases  in  the  town.) 

Mr.  Gordon  really^ laughed  aloud,  and  so  did  father. 

(76) 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  77 

"  No,  my  son,"  he  answered,  "  he  has  a  complaint  of 
much  more  common  recurrence  than  the  small  pox  ;  but 
I  do  not  think  him  dangerously  ill." 

After  dinner,  when  Bessie  and  Edward  had  left  the 
room,  father  explained  himself  by  saying  that  though  the 
letter  was  superscribed  to  him,  yet  it  was  addressed  to 
Miss  Allen,  and  contained  a  most  extravagant  expression 
of  his  affection  for  her,  with  an  offer  of  his  hand.  "  I 
presume,"  said  father,  «  that  the  crazy  boy  made  a  mis- 
take in  the  direction,  and  while  he  sent  mine  to  her,  he 
sent  hers  to  me." 

Mother  laughed  until  the  tears  run  down  her  cheeks  ; 
and  they  all  seemed  to  consider  it  a  good  joke.  But  I 
was  grieved  for  poor  Tommy,  and  knew  it  would  be  a 
dreadful  mortification  to  him.  But  I  did  not  realize  how 
great,  until  I  had  read  his  letter  to  father,  which  came  to- 
day, together  with  quite  a  packet  of  little  notes  he  had 

sent  Miss  Allen  while  she  was  visiting  in  , .  The 

letter  was  as  follows. 

"  Dear  father  and  mother : 

"  Perhaps  you  remember  when  I  was  at  home  I 
mentioned  a  Miss  Allen  to  you.  I  had  met  her  at  her 
sister's.  Since  my  return  I  have  been  more  frequently 
in  her  society,  and  am  more  and  more  pleased  with 
her.  But  I  had  no  idea  of  going  farther,  at  present, 
knowing  as  I  do  your  opinion  concerning  young  men 
being  engaged  while  in  college ;  but  from  some  remarks 
of  her  sister,  while  making  a  call  there  after  she  had  left 
for  home,  I  find  that  she  considers  the  matter  to  have  gone 
farther  than  it  really  has,  and  supposed  that  I  had  actu- 


78  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

ally  committed  myself.  I  came  to  my  room  and  passed 
a  sleepless  night  in  my  conflict  between  my  inclination 
and  a  sense  of  honor.  I  called  to  mind  all  I  had  ever 
heard  you  say,  dear  mother,  and  at  length  a  remark 
which  you  made  nearly  a  year  ago,  decided  me  that 
there  was  no  honorable  course  for  me  to  pursue,  but  to 
make,  her  an  offer  of  my  hand. 

"  The  remark  was  this :  '  A  gentleman  has  no  right, 
my  son,  to  show  a  lady  particular  attentions  which  may 
call  out  feelings  of  interest  on  her  part,  unless  he  means 
something  serious  by  these  attentions.'  Therefore  this 
morning  I  have  written  her  a  formal  proposal. 

"  In  haste,  your  affectionate  son, 

THOMAS  WARREN." 

At  the  bottom  was  written  in  a  very  fine  hand,  "  Miss 
Allen  declines  the  honor  proposed  by  Mr.  Warren,  and 
requests  the  return  of  any  of  her  writing  he  may  have  in 
his  possession." 

My  letter  from  Thomas  was  upon  the  same  subject, 
asking  me  to  use  my  influence  with  father  and  mother 
to  induce  them  to  consent  to  this  engagement.  Father 
folded  the  packet  of  notes  with  the  two  letters,  and  sent 
them  to  Thomas,  with  merely  the  remark,  that  when  he 
wrote  letters  upon  important  subjects,  he  ought  always  to 
be  sure  they  were  directed  aright 

I  took  the  matter  so  much  to  heart  and  plead  for  poor 
Thomas  so  earnestly,  that  father  said  he  feared  I  had 
been  afflicted  with  the  same  malady,  which  charge  I 
indignantly  repelled.  He  then  appealed  to  Mr.  Gordon 
whether  he  could  advise  any  better  course  than  to  send 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF   WEDDED    LIFE.  79 

the  letters  to  Thomas :  but  he  declined  any  advice  in 
matters  of  the  heart,  as  out  of  his  line.  He  appeared 
much  more  cheerful,  however,  and  in  the  afternoon  pro- 
posed a  walk  with  me  down  to  Dame  Streeter's.  Edward 
accompanied  us,  and  drew  Gracie  on  the  sled. 

It  is  again  summer,  and  I  am  once  more  sitting  iti  my 
pleasant  room  in  my  own  dear  home,  never  before  half 
so  dear.  Now  that  I  sit  here  I  can  scarcely  realize  that  I 
have  been  so  far  away.  Yet  when  I  remember  how  many 
places  I  have  visited,  and  what  an  entire  change  has 
taken  place  in  my  religious  feelings,  it  appears  hardly 
possible  that  it  can  be  in  so  short  a  time  as  six  months. 
Though  when  I  left  home  I  considered  it  a  great  trial  to 
do  so,  yet  I  shall  never  regret  it.  Oh,  no !  neither  in 
time  nor  eternity.  I  look  out  of  my  window  and  see 
the  graceful  elms ;  the  beautiful  carpet  of  green  which 
covers  the  earth ;  the  azure  sky,  and  the  many  tinted 
flowers.  But  how  different  they  seem  now  that  I  can 
say 

"  My  father  made  them  all. 

jj 

Then  J  look  beyond  the  church,  whose  lofty  spire  is  ever 
reminding  passers  by  that  there  is  a  God  above  them, 
and  I  see  the  sepulchres  of  the  dead.  There  is  no  gloom 
about  it  now.  Once  I  dreaded  to  pass  that  retired  spot, 
and  if  my  eye  rested  for  one  moment  upon  the  monuments 
of  the  dead,  I  would  turn  my  thoughts  away.  But  now 
I  remember  that  when  my  body  lies  there,  my  spirit  will 
be  with  my  Saviour.  Yes,  I  hope  that  he  has  graciously 
pardoned  all  my  sins  and  has  commenced  a  good  work 


80  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

in  my  soul.  Oh,  what  a  blessed  thought!  What  a 
glorious  hope !  How  easy  now  to  bear  all  the  trials  we 
may  meet  with,  when  we  realize  that  it  will  be  but  a 
short  time,  at  the  longest,  before  we  shall  be  at  home. 
Yes,  in  our  Father's  house  above.  A  mansion  furnished 
and  made  ready  for  us  by  the  self-sacrificing  love  of  our 
elder  brother.  I  long  to  have  my  dear  brothers  and  sis- 
ters partakers  with  me  of  the  peace  and  joy  which  fill 
my  heart.  Let  me  strive  so  to  live  that  I  may  win  them 
to  Christ. 

I  had  not  time  yesterday  to  commence,  writing  about 
my  journey.  The  last  week  in  January  aunt  Susan  sent 
for  me  to  go  and  stay  with  her  for  a  few  months.  As 
she  was  unwell,  and  requested  my  company  as  a  favor 
to  herself,  neither  of  my  parents  thought  it  right  to 
refuse,  though  it  cost  me  quite  an  effort  to  consent. 

Soon  after  I  arrived  in  M I  was  one  evening  sitting 

by  aunt  Susan,  giving  her  an  account  of  the  sickness  in 
our  family,  especially  that  of  poor  Gracie,  when  she  very 
kindly  led  me  on  to  speak  of  my  own  feelings  at  the 
time.  I  remarked  that  during  that  dreadful  night  when 
we  had  given  up  hope  of  her  recovery,  I  would  willingly 
have  died  to  save  her  young  life. 

"  Then,  my  child,"  said  aunt,  as  ahe  held  my  hand, 
"  you  felt  that  you  were  ready  to  die  ?  This  has  long 
been  a  subject  of  my  prayer." 

Oh,  how  that  question  pierced  my  heart !  It  proved 
an  arrow  from  God's  quiver,  which  rankled  and  festered 
until  the  great  Physician  applied  his  healing  balm. 

For  days  I  could  scarcely  eat  or  sleep ;  but  at  length 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  81 

found  peace  in  believing  in  Jesus.  I  immediately  wrote 
to  my  parents,  and  from  time  to  time  received  letters 
from  them  full  of  encouragement  and  instruction.  It 
was  a  great  comfort  to  me  that  I  was  not  forgotten  in 
their  prayers,  but  that  morning  and  evening  I  was  car- 
ried in  the  arms  of  faith  to  the  family  altar. 

The  first  week  in  April  I  accompanied  aunt  to  the 
West.  Her  health  had  much  improved.  We  proceeded 
as  far  as  Michigan  and  the  valley  of  the  Mississippi, 
where  uncle  Hammond's  brother  is  residing,  and  after  a 
delightful  visit  there,  returned  home,  having  seen  either  on 
our  outward  or  homeward  course  most  of  the  places  of 
general  interest.  The  falls  of  Niagara  and  Mammoth  cave 
made  the  most  vivid  impression  upon  my  mind.  Aunt 
very  kindly  stopped  several  days  in  Washington,  Balti- 
more, Philadelphia  and  New  York,  that  I  might  have  an 
opportunity  to  examine  the  principal  objects.  Mother 
suggested  to  me  the  importance  of  writing  a  description 
of  some  of  the  public  institutions — my  visit  to  the  Capitol 
and  President's  House,  at  Washington,  and  many  other 
places.  It  helped  me  much  to  retain  my  recollection  of 
them.  But  I  washed  to  write  them  in  another  book  that 
I  might  read  them  to  my  brothers  and  sisters. 

I  was  surprised,  on  reaching  home,  to  find  Mr.  Gor- 
don still  here,  as  he  expected  to  have  been  licensed  in 
the  spring ;  but  it  seems  he  left  soon  after  I  did,  to  visit 
his  brother  in  New  Jersey,  and  has  only  returned  and 
been  licensed  a  few  weeks.  He  has  made  an  en- 
gagement to  supply  the  pulpit  in  B ,  for  the 

summer,  and  as  it  is  but  three  miles  distant,  he  continues 


82  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

to  board  here.  He  says  the  distance  is  of  little  import- 
ance as  he  has  always  been  in  the  habit  of  walking,  while 
the  instruction  he  receives  from  father  is  invaluable. 
Father  and  mother  seem  to  regard  him  like  a  dear 
brother,  and  indeed  in  every  respect  he  makes  himself 
one  of  the  family.  Bessie  goes  to  him  with  her  sums, 
and  Edward  with  his  childish  joys  and  sorrows,  as  freely 
as  to  father  or  mother.  But  Gracie  always  has  been  and 
always  will  be  his  favorite.  He  has  almost  entirely  cured 
her  of  sucking  her  finger.  If  she  ever  puts  it  in  her 
mouth,  one  glance  from  him  will  cause  her  to  snatch  it 
away  and  cast  down  her  eyes  from  shame.  Next  Sab- 
bath father  is  going  to  exchange  with  him,  and  we  shall 
have  an  opportunity  to  hear  him  preach. 

Yesterday  I  was  quite  unwell  with  a  sore  throat,  and 
really  was  hardly  able  to  go  out  to  church,  but  was  so 
desirous  to  hear  Mr.  Gordon  that  I  determined  to  make 
the  effort ;  and  I  was  well  rewarded  for  it.  The  sermon 
was  just  what  I  expected,  simple  and  chaste  in  style, 
earnest  and  fervent  in  spirit,  and  though  the  delivery  was 
at  first  a  little  stiff  and  precise,  yet  it  was  natural.  The 
speaker  evidently  forgot  himself  in  his  subject.  In  the 
afternoon  I  was  putting  on  my  bonnet  to  go  again,  when 
he  came  into  the  sitting  room.  I  was  there  for  the  mo- 
ment alone  with  Gracie,  and  he  advanced  quickly  to  me 
and  said,  "  surely  you  will  not  go  out  again  to-day  ?" 

«  Yes,"  I  answered  frankly, « I  want  to  hear  my  brother. 
I  was  much  interested,  and  I  hope  profited,  this  morn- 
ing." 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  83 

"  If  you  will  stay  at  home,"  he  replied  earnestly,  "  I 
will  give  you  my  sermon  to  read." 

"  But  I  want  to  hear  the  prayers  too."  I  didn't  mean 
to  offend  him,  but  he  must  have  misunderstood  me,  or 
thought  me  indulging  in  some  wrong  feeling,  for  he  had 
taken  my  hand,  and  when  I  made  the  last  remark,  he 
dropped  it  almost  rudely,  and  turned  to  the  window. 
Perhaps  he  thought  I  wished  to  flatter  him,  or  considered 
it  altogether  wrong  to  speak  upon  such  a  subject.  I 
must  say,  I  was  a  little  worried  at  his  abrupt  manner. 
When  mother  came  into  the  room  ready  for  church,  I  put 
on  my  cape  and  accompanied  them.  Father  told  her 

when  he  returned  from  B ,  that  they  were  so  much 

pleased  with  Mr.  Gordon's  preaching,  that  they  were  de- 
termined to  give  him  a  call  to  settle  among  them. 

On  Tuesday,  Eleanor  Wells  called,  and  wished  to  see 
me  alone  on  business.  I  wondered  a  little  what  it  could 
be,  and  my  face  burned,  as  I  feared  it  was  some  message 
from  Henry,  whom  I  have  not  seen  for  several  months. 
I  arose,  however,  and  followed  her  from  the  room.  The 
subject  of  business  was  entirely  different  from  what  I  had 
conjectured,  though  she  did  read  me  a  note  from  her 
brother,  who  had  just  learned  that  I  had  returned,  and 
wrote  that  he  should  be  at  home  in  a  few  weeks.  But 
since  hearing  Mr.  Gordon  on  the  Sabbath,  she  has  "  made 
a  beautiful  plan,"  she  says,  to  get  up  a  class  in  intellec- 
tual and  moral  philosophy,  and  to  invite  him  to  be  the 
teacher.  I  suggested  several  objections,  such  as  want  of 
time  on  his  part,  and  my  fear  that  she  would  soon  be 
tired  of  the  study,  and  abandon  it.  Beside,  I  could  not 


84  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGESJ 

think  of  any  others  who  would  be  likely  to  join  such  a 
class. 

"Oh!"  she  answered,  "you  and  I  are  enough,  I  do 
not  want  a  great  many."  And  finding  her  ready  to  an- 
swer all  my  objections,  I  at  length  confessed,  that  the 
plan,  if  properly  arranged,  would  be  agreeable  to  me.  I, 
however,  did  not  wish  to  tell  her  that  the  gentleman  had 
once  declined  being  my  tutor ;  but  I  entirely  refused  to 
have  anything  to  do  with  suggesting  it  to  him,  or  even 
to  sign  my  name  to  a  letter  she  proposed  to  write.  We 
then  returned  to  the  parlor,  where  she  stopped  for  the  re- 
mainder of  the  evening,  and  Mr.  Gordon  accompanied 
her  home.  Father  inquired  for  her  brother,  and  she  re- 
peated his  message  to  me.  He  is  studying  law  at  Cam- 
bridge, and  is  very  enthusiastic  in  his  love  of  his  profes- 
sion. Father  remarked,  "  Henry  will  distinguish  himself 
at  the  bar,"  and  I,  foolish  girl,  must  needs  blush  at  that 
Oh,  dear!  how  hard  it  is  to  know  what  to  do,  or  what 
one  wishes  to  do.  I  have  tried  and  tried  to  examine  my- 
self, and  find  out  the  exact  nature  of  my  affection  for 
Henry.  Certainly  I  like  him  better  than  any  one  else ; 
but  do  I  like  him  enough,  to  be  united  to  him  for  life  ? 
Should  I  feel  badly  if  I  were  to  hear  that  he  were  at- 
tached to  another?  I  think  I  should.  And  then  the 
whole  family  consider  it  settled.  Sometimes  I  deter- 
mine not  to  worry  at  all  about  it,  but  to  wait  until  I  am 
called  to  decide.  But  would  that  be  right  ?  Henry  is 
soon  coming  home.  If  I  cannot  return  his  affection,  I 
ought  not  to  subject  him  to  the  pain  and  mortification 
of  an  absolute  refusal.  I  wonder  if  Mr.  Gordon  ever 
thinks  of  marriage.  It  is  very  probable  that  he  is  en- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  85 

gaged  to  some  worthy  lady,  whom  he  considers  suited 
for  the  wife  of  a  clergyman.  That  he  will  make  an  ex- 
cellent husband,  I  know  from  the  care  and  tenderness  he 
exhibited  during  our  sickness.  I  have  sometimes  of  late 
had  the  thought  occur  to  me,  that  he  liked  Eleanor. 
Certainly  her  feelings  toward  him,  have  wonderfully 
changed.  She  no  longer  considers  him  a  bore.  She 
says  if  she  could  get  any  one  to  accompany  her,  she 

would  go  over  next   Sabbath,  to  B ,  to  hear   him 

preach  again. 

This  morning  I  have  been  engaged  in  writing  a  love- 
letter,  and  as  it  is  my  first  effort,  I  intend  to  transcribe  it 
as  a  curiosity. 

"Dear  Roland: 

"  I  am  well,  and  hope  you  are  the  same.  I  have  made 
all  the  arrangements  for  our  marriage,  and  now  appoint 
the  twenty-third  of  August,  as  the  happy  day.  We  are 
to  be  married  at  the  parsonage,  and  Miss  Susan  has  pro- 
mised to  make  a  loaf  of  wedding  cake. 

"  Hoping  to  see  you  soon,  I  am  yours  till  death. 

MARYANNE  SANDFORD." 

Mrs.  Sandford  is  a  very  smart,  enterprising  young 
woman,  who  was  left  a  widow  about  three  years  since, 
but  who  by  her  untiring  diligence  and  perseverance,  has 
not  only  earned  a  comfortable  subsistence  for  herself,  and 
four  children,  but  almost  entirely  supports  her  aged 
mother.  She  is,  I  should  judge,  about  thirty-two  or 
three  years  of  age,  and  though  she  weighs  somewhere 
8 


86  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

near  two  hundred  pounds,  has  a  very  bright,  good  humor- 
ed, and  therefore  pretty  face. 

She  earns  her  living  entirely  by  washing,  aYid  when  I 
first  came  home,  imparted  to  me  in  strict  confidence,  the 
fact  that  she  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  a  young  man 
twenty-one  years  of  age ;  but  as  she  said,  "  a  very  likely 
lad."  Though  wondering  a  little,  both  at  her  choice  and 
his,  yet  I  comforted  myself  with  the  thought,  that  if  they 
were  suited,  that  was  all  that  was  necessary,  and  cer- 
tainly she  was  old  enough  to  choose  for  herself.  The 
fact  that  "  he  never  took  a  drop  of  liquor,"  seemed  in  her 
mind,  to  be  a  cloak  large  enough  to  cover  all  other  defi- 
ciencies, whether  of  age  or  energy.  At  any  rate,  I  kept 
her  confidence  strictly,  until  this  morning,  when  with 
sundry  blushes  and  hidings  of  her  face  behind  her  apron 
she  asked  me  to  write  the  above  letter  for  her,  saying 
"  he  left  it  all  with  me,  and  wanted  me  to  let  him  know, 
when  I  was  ready."  After  ascertaining  from  me,  that  she 
could  be  married  here,  and  promising  to  do  what  I  could 
to  make  the  occasion  a  pleasant  one,  I  carried  my  port- 
folio to  the  kitchen,  and  wrote  according  to  her  dictation. 
She  stopped  for  a  moment  from  the  vigorous  rubbing  of 
her  clothes,  while  I  read  it  to  her,  when  she  "  concluded 
between  us,  we've  made  out  a  pretty  'cute  letter."  Then 
with  a  smiling,  blushing  face,  she  returned  with  new 
zeal  to  her  work, "  guessing  that  Roland's  ears  were  burn- 
ing." 

I  was  so  much  elated  with  my  success,  that  I  carried 
the  precious  epistle  to  the  sitting-room,  where  father  and 
mother  were  seated,  and  was  just  telling  them  about  it, 
when  Mr.  Gordon  came  in.  I  made  a  motion  to  put  it 


OK,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  87 

away,  but  father  said  pleasantly,  "  no,  child,  go  on ;   Mr. 
Gordon  is  one  of  us,  and  has  been  too  much  interested 
in  our  family,  for  us  to  conceal  from  him  so  important 
an  event,  as  the  marriage  of  one  of  its  members." 
The  gentleman  started  and  said,  "  ah,  Thomas ! " 
"  No,"  said  father,  mysteriously,  "  a  female  member." 
"  Oh !  indeed !  I  was  not  aware,"  he  answered  quickly, 
and  taking  a  seat  by  the  window. 

"  Come,  Susy,"  said  father,  "  read  your  letter." 
I  saw  that  Mr.  Gordon  was  laboring  under  a  mistake, 
and  I  felt  just  roguish  enough  to  puzzle  him  still  farther, 
therefore  I  omitted  the  name  at  the  commencement,  and 
substituted  "  Dearest  of  friends."  As  I  went  on,  substi- 
tuting here  and  there  a  word,  I  am  sure  my  looks  were 
conscious  enough  to  lead  him  to  suppose  I  meant  to  ap- 
point the  time  for  my  own  nuptials.  I  glanced  at  him 
once,  to  see  what  he  thought  of  my  letter  as  a  specimen 
of  epistolary  correspondence ;  but  he  was  gazing  at  some- 
thing in  the  street. 

"  Well  done,  Susy,"  said  father,  "  That  will  do  very 
well  for  a  beginning." 

"  It  certainly  has  one  advantage,"  I  replied,  "  I  have 
left  opportunity  for  an  increase  of  warmth,  as  the  ac- 
quaintance progresses.  I  consider  it  quite  an  achieve- 
ment." I  went  around  behind  father's  chair,  and  asked 
him  in  a  low  voice,  if  Mr.  Gordon  "were  not  authorized 
to  marry,  as  it  would  be  a  good  opportunity  for  him  to 
begin. 

"  I  could  not  perform  the  ceremony  until  after  my  or- 
dination," he  replied,  gravely,  to  my  astonishment  having 


88  THE    FIRST    AND    THE     SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

overheard  me,  "  and  beside  that,  I  shall  probably  be  ab- 
sent from  town." 

Father  thought  the  joke  had  been  carried  far  enough, 
and  he  said,  "  then  Mrs.  Sandford  will  have  to  be  satis- 
fied with  me."  He  then  repeated  the  story  I  had  been 
telling  them  when  Mr.  Gordon  came  into  the  room,  while 
I  ran  to  my  chamber. 

Eleanor  came  over  again  last  evening,  and  I  saw  her 
give  him  the  letter.  Though  I  declined  signing  it,  yet 
I  thought  she  would  show  it  to  me,  before  she  delivered 
it.  He  immediately  left  the  room,  and  though  Eleanor 
waited  nearly  an  hour,  he  did  not  return.  She  whis- 
pered to  me  as  I  accompanied  her  a  few  steps,  that  she 
presumed  he  would  answer  it  in  writing.  But  she  waa 
mistaken,  for  I  was  standing  on  the  piazza  a  moment 
before  I  went  in,  when  he  joined  me,  and  taking  her  note 
in  his  hand,  said,  "  Miss  Susan,  is  this  your  wish  as  well 
as  Miss  Eleanor's?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  —  no,  sir,"  I  replied,  stammering  in  my  con- 
fusion, as  I  remembered  and  feared  a  repetition  of  the 
former  occasion.  "  I  did  not  think  you  would  have  time 
to  hear  me  anymore  than  before;  but  —  but  she  was 
very  anxious  that  I  should  join  her.  I  hope  you  will  not 
think  me  "  — 

He  waited  patiently  to  give  me  time  to  finish  my 
sentence ;  but  I  was  too  much  confused  to  add  another 
word. 

"  Do  not  fear  to  use  your  accustomed,  frankness,"  he 
said,  at  length,  "  you  once  honored  me  by  calling  me 
brother,  and  brothers  are  accustomed  to  be  treated  with 
great  freedom.  What  do  you  hope  I  shah1  not  think  you  ?  " 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  89 

"  Too  forward,"  I  answered,  in  a  low  voice. 

"  No,"  said  he  decidedly,  "  I  shall  never  think  that,"  and 
he  put  my  hand  in  his  arm,  and  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  the  piazza.  "  On  the  contrary,  I  have  thought, 
shall  I  tell  you  what  ?  "  he  added,  stooping  toward  me. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  should  be  very  grateful  if  you  would  point 
out  my  faults." 

"  Well,  then,  rather  too  reserved  with  your  elder 
brother.  I  can  never  forget  that  you  once  allowed  me  to 
soothe  your  grief,  and  am  pained  at  the  restraint  which 
has  grown  up  between  us." 

I  wanted  to  say,  "  It  has  not  been  my  fault  that  our 
friendly  intercourse  has  not  continued;  "  but  my  lips  re- 
fused to  articulate,  and  after  walking  back  and  forth  a 
few  moments,  he  paused,  and  with  a  sigh  said,  "  well, 
then,  do  I  understand  you  that  you  would  prefer  not  join- 
ing such  a  class  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  sir !  I  should  be  much  pleased,  if  you  can 
conveniently  attend  to  it." 

"  Then  you  may  tell  Miss  Wells  that  I  will  comply 
with  her  request,  and  that  I  will  arrange  as  to  time  of 
recitation  and  books  to-morrow  evening.  As  to  the  for- 
mer occasion  to  which  you  referred,"  he  added,  speaking 
I  thought  with  some  embarrassment,  "  want  of  time  was 
not  my  reason  for  declining." 

"  But  want  of  inclination,"  I  said,  before  I  thought.  I 
was  frightened  the  moment  I  had  spoken,  and  he  stop- 
ped short,  and  gazed  into  my  face,  so  earnestly  in  the 
moonlight,  that  I  was  glad  to  drop  my  eyes.  "  I  cannot 
at  present  explain,"  he  said,  seriously,  "  perhaps  never ; 
but  believe  me,  it  was  neither  for  want  of  time  nor  incli- 
8* 


90  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES', 

nation."  There  was  something  in  the  manner  more  than 
the  words,  that  made  me  tremble,  and  I  quickly  drew 
my  hand  from  his  arm,  and  hurried  to  my  own  room. 

The  times  for  recitation  are  Tuesday,  Thursday,  and 
Saturday  at  three  o'clock,  P.  M.  We  have  recited  two 
weeks.  Eleanor  will  not  allow  that  she  is  weary  of  the 
exercise ;  but  I  can  see  that  her  interest  in  it  is  much  less 
than  when  we  commenced.  She  says  Mr.  Gordon  is  so 
very  serious  that  it  takes  away  all  her  pleasure.  And  he 
is  so.  This  afternoon  we  were  all  invited  to  Squire 
Wells's  to  tea.  I  hardly  think  I  should  have  gone,  if  I 
had  known  Henry  was  coming ;  but  his  return  was  unex- 
pected to  them  as  well  as  to  us.  He  seemed  in  high 
spirits  to  see  us  there,  and  as  we  walked  home,  told  me 
how  anxious  he  had  been  when  I  was  sick,  and  how  dis- 
appointed when  last  at  home,  on  account  of  my  absence. 
I  tried  to  turn  the  conversation  from  such  subjects,  but 
only  succeeded,  when  I  spoke  of  his  studies. 

"How  early  may  I  come  over?"  he  asked  as  we 
parted. 

"  Any  time  after  dinner,"  I  replied. 

«  Good  bye  till  then,  dear  Susy,"  he  said,  drawing  me 
back  from  the  door,  as  he  held  my  hand  tightly  in  his. 

I  started  from  him,  and  passed  into  the  house. 

I  hung  up  my  bonnet,  and  went  into  the  room  where 
the  family  were  sitting  in  the  moonlight. 

Mother  sat  in  her  usual  place,  and  near  her  a  gentle- 
man who,  I  supposed,  was  father,  while  Mr.  Gordon,  as 
I  thought,  occupied  his  usual  seat  near  the  window.  I 
•vent  in  softly  with  a  very  heavy  heart,  and  sat  down  by 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  91 

the  one  I  thought  was  father,  and  laying  my  head  upon 
his  shoulder,  whispered,  "  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  what 
to  do,  I  am  very  unhappy."  A  sound  almost  like  a  sob 
was  the  only  reply,  and  I  sprang  up,  "  oh,  father !  what 
is  the  matter  ?  "  In  my  anxiety  for  him,  for  the  moment, 
I  had  forgotten  my  own  sorrow. 

"  Why,  my  child,  where  did  you  come  from  ?  "  asked 
father  from  the  window. 

I  had  mistaken  them,  and  was  confused  enough  when 
I  thought  what  I  had  said,  but  I  was  determined  to  know 
what  affected  Mr.  Gordon,  and  I  went  out  for  a  light. 
When  I  returned,  however,  his  face  was  shaded  with  his 
hand,  and  immediately  after  prayers  he  retired  to  his 
room.  After  half  an  hour  I  heard  him  speaking  to 
Nancy  in  the  kitchen,  and  fearing  he  was  sick,  I  went 
down  to  see  if  he  wished  anything.  Nancy  was  just 
giving  him  some  saleratus ;  but  I  recommended  soda, 
and  mixed  it  for  him.  "  I  knew  you  were  not  well,"  I 
said. 

"  I  confess  that  I  have  some  pain  in  my  head,"  he  re- 
plied, stirring  the  spoon  around  in  the  water,  "  but " — 
and  he  glanced  at  the  kitchen  door  to  see  if  Nancy  were 
within  hearing,  "  you  said  you  were  unhappy.  Can  I  be 
of  any  service  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,  sir ! "  I  answered  quickly,  and  I  sank  upon 
the  sofa  and  hid  my  face  in  my  hands. 

He  placed  the  tumbler  upon  the  table  and  sat  down 
by  me.  "  If  I  were  indeed  a  brother,  couldn't  you  ?  "  he 
asked  softly. 

"  Yes,  sir." 


92  THE    FIRST   AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES, 

«  Then  why  not  now  ?  I  am  as  truly  anxious  for  your 
happiness  as  a  brother  could  be." 

All  at  once  I  thought  I  would  tell  him  all  my  heart, 
and  ask  him  what  I  ought  to  do.  Even  now  I  do  not 
see  how  I  dared ;  but  when  he  is  present,  I  can  neither 
resist  nor  oppose  what  he  wishes.  "  If  I  tell  you,"  1 
asked,  "  will  you  advise  me  what  to  do  ?  " 

"  Surely,"  and  he  arose  and  set  the  lamp  on  the  entry 
table,  leaving  the  door  open. 

I  do  not  remember  how  I  began,  but  I  told  him  all, 
and  he  did  not  interrupt  me  by  a  word.  "  I  feel,"  said  1 
at  the  close,  "  that  I  could  not  be  happy  with  Henry  un- 
less he  sympathized  with  me  in  my  religious  feelings, 
and  I  do  not  know  whether  he  is  a-Christian.  If  I  find 
he  is,  I  suppose  I  shall" — I  stopped  short  —  almost 
frightened  at  a  quick  gasp  of  my  companion,  and  sprang 
up  to  go  for  the  lamp ;  but  he  took  my  hand  and  mo- 
tioned me  to  resume  my  seat. 

"  Go  on,"  said  he  in  a  husky  voice. 
"  I  cannot  go  on,"  I  exclaimed  earnestly,  "  indeed,  I 
should  be  an  unkind  sister  if  I  were  to  talk  to  you  of  my 
own  troubles,  when  you  are  so  ill.     I  must  call  father  or 
mother." 

"  It  is  not  necessary,"  he  replied. 

"  I  have  done,"  I  said,  "  I  have  told  you  more  than  I 
ever  told  even  my  own  brother,  and  when  you  are  better, 
I  shall  claim  your  promise." 

"  Susan,"  for  the  first  time  calling  me  so,  "  I  never  had 
the  happiness  to  have  a  sister ;  but  you  are  " —  and  he 
suddenly  took  my  hand,  but  let  it  go  again  immediately. 
«  Excuse  me,  I  cannot  fulfil  my  promise,  I  cannot  advise 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  93 

you  in  such  a  case,"  and  I  could  see  that  he  trembled 
excessively.  "  But  you  must  not  think  it  is  any  want  of 
interest,  or  of  affection  to  you,  or  because  I  do  not  prize 
highly  the  confidence  you  have  reposed  in  me." 

After  waiting  a  moment  and  finding  he  was  not  going 
to  say  any  more,  I  brought  the  lamp  and  gave  it  to  him, 
and  without  one  word  we  separated  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE  TWO  SUITORS. 

THIS  has  been  a  very  important  day  to  me,  as  well  as 
a  very  long  one,  for  I  awoke  when  the  church  clock  was 
striking  twelve,  and  did  not  again  close  my  eyes.  I  now 
fully  understood  all  my  reluctance  to  talk  with  Henry, 
and  all  my  indecision  with  regard  to  him,  for  I  had  found 
out  that  with  my  whole  heart  I  was  attached  to  Mr. 
Gordon,  while  I  could  not  recall  one  circumstance  to 
convince  myself  that  he  had  any  other  affection  for  me, 
than  one  might  entertain  for  a  sister. 

I  was  almost  frightened,  as  I  dressed  myself,  to  see 
how  pale  and  haggard  I  looked,  but  hurried  down  hop- 
ing it  would  escape  notice.  I  can  hardly  tell  how  I  got 
through  the  morning.  I  was  conscious  of  possessing  a 
secret,  and  feared  some  one  would  discover  it.  Just  "be- 
fore dinner  Mr.  Gordon  came  in,  and  Gracie  ran  to  him 
to  take  her  in  his  lap.  «  My  little  darling,"  he  said  ten- 
derly, «  I  shall  miss  you  very  much."  I  was  obliged  to 
go  into  the  entry  and  hold  my  hand  to  my  heart,  I  had 
such  a  sudden  pang  at  the  thought  of  his  going  away ; 
and  when  I  returned  I  was  so  dizzy  that  I  could  scarcely 
finish  setting  the  table. 

"  Susan,"  said  he,  addressing  me,  "  you  must  go  to 
your  chamber  and  lie  down.  You  are  not  well  enough 

(94) 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  95 

to  be  about;"  and  he  put  Oracle  from  him  and  led  me  to 
the  door. 

I  thought  of  nothing  but  complying.  I  had  hardly 
taken  off  my  dress  before  Nancy  brought  me  a  bowl  of 
tea. 

"  Who  sent  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Mr.  Gordon,"  was  the  reply,  "  and  your  mother  said 
you  were  to  take  a  long  nap." 

"  Nancy,"  I  said,  "  I  will  go  to  sleep  if  you  will  prom- 
ise to  call  me  when  Mr.  Wells  comes." 

"  Yes,  miss." 

Being  really  much  in  need  of  rest,  I  slept  soundly  until 
awakened  by  a  ring  of  the  door  bell.  Nancy  went  and 
waited  upon  some  one  into  the  study,  and  after  a  few 
minutes  came  to  call  me. 

"  Mr.  Wells  is  with  your  father,"  she  said,  upon  see- 
ing me  awake,  "  and  you  told  me  to  call  you  when  he 
came."  I  arose  slowly  and  dressed  myself.  I  knew  too 
well  what  Henry  was  asking  father,  from  what  his 
mother  said  to  me  last  evening,  and  I  knew  too  what  I 
must  answer  him.  But  oh  the  pain  it  gave  me  to  tell 
him  I  could  not  return  his  affection !  Before  I  was 
dressed  mother  came  up  and  told  me  Henry  was  wait- 
ing to  see  me  in  the  parlor.  I  begged  her  to  go  with  me, 
but  she  only  smiled  and  said  it  wrould  be  embarrassing  to 
all  of  us.  So  I  went  alone. 

Henry  came  forward,  led  me  to  the  sofa,  and  seemed 
very  anxious,  to  see  me  looking  so  ill.  But  he  soon  for- 
got that,  in  his  earnest  pleading  of  his  cause.  I  cannot 
relate  all  that  was  said.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  poor 
Henry's  disappointment.  He  promised  every  thing  if 


96  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

I  would  allow  him  to  hope  ;  that  he  would  wait  years  if  I 
thought  myself  too  young,  and  alas,  that  if  his  not  being 
a  Christian  were  an  objection,  he  would  endeavor  to 
become  one.  I  could  only  weep  and  shake  my  head, 
until  at  last,  when  he  urged  for  my  reason,  I  told  him 
with  a  burst  of  tears  that  my  heart  was  not  my  own, 
and  that  it  was  only  within  a  few  hours  that  I  had 
made  the  discovery. 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  and  said,  "  then 
my  case  is  hopeless." 

"  Henry,"  I  answered,  trying  to  suppress  my  tears,  "  if 
I  did  not  feel  so  true  a  friendship  for  you,  I  would  con- 
sent to  your  wishes,  for  my  love  is  not  reciprocated ; "  and 
my  cheeks  burned  with  shame  as  I  made  the  confession. 
"  But  you  deserve  a  whole  heart  and  a  warm  one,  in 
return  for  your  generous  affection." 

"  No,  Susy,  I  would  not  consent  to  your  making  such 
a  sacrifice.  You  will  be  happy.  It  is  impossible  for 
any  one  to  be  insensible  to  your  love,"  and  he  rose  to  go. 
"Dear  Susy,"  he  said,  taking  my  hand,  "  I  had  fondly 
hoped  for  a  different  answer.  Your  father  consented  to 
my  addressing  you ;  but  I  acquit  you  of  all  blame,  and 
believe  me,  dearest,  you  have  my  sincerest  wishes  for 
your  happiness.  Do  not  think  it  strange  if  I  avoid  see- 
ing you,  for,  oh,  how  hard  it  is  to  realize  that  all  my 
happy  dreams  are  over!"  and  making  a  slight  bow  he 
left  the  room. 

I  sat  where  he  left  me  and  cried  for  hours.  Twenty 
times  I  was  on  the  point  of  calling  him  back,  and  I  am 
sure  yesterday  I  should  have  done  so;  but  when  I 
thought  of  another,  I  could  not.  At  last  mother  passed 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  97 

the  door,  and  was  surprised  to  find  Henry  gone.  I  laid 
my  head  on  her  lap  and  told  her  all ;  no,  not  all ;  there 
was  one  confession  I  had  made  to  him  my  lips  refused 
to  utter.  Mother  was  surprised,  and  I  thought  disap- 
pointed. "  Are  you  sure,  my  child,"  she  asked,  "  that 
you  have  not  deceived  yourself  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  mother.  But  I  could  not  bear  to  give  him 
pain." 

She  advised  me  to  go  to  my  room,  and  said  she  would 
excuse  me  from  tea ;  so  I  have  been  trying  to  compose 
myself  by  writing. 

I  must  endeavor  to  calm  myself,  or  I  cannot  direct  my 
pen.  I  fear  it  is  not  right  for  me  to  be  so  happy  when 
poor  Henry  is  so  sad. 

This  morning,  at  breakfast,  I  forced  myself  to  go 
down.  Just  as  soon  as  I  entered  the  door  Mr.  Gordon 
gave  me  a  piercing  look  as  if  to  ask  what  I  had  decided, 
and  whether  I  was  happy,  and  then  he  came  forward 
and  led  me  to  the  table.  "  Dear  Susan,"  he  wrhispered, 
"  I  see  you  are  not  yet  well."  Edward  came  in  late,  and 
exclaimed,  "  oh,  Susy !  did  you  know  Henry  Wells  has 
gone  off  again,  and  he  will  not  come  back  for  a  great 
many  years  ?  George  told  me  so.  He  is  going  to 
Europe." 

Mother  answered  for  me,  and  father  gave  a  new  turn 
to  the  conversation ;  but  I  was  so  faint  that  I  could  not 
swallow,  and  after  the  mere  form  of  eating,  I  rose  from 
the  table ;  and  after  prayers  returned  to  my  room.  There 
upon  my  knees,  I  prayed  for  strength  to  endure  all  that 
my  heavenly  Father  thought  fit  to  inflict,  and  I  prayed, 
9 


98  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND     MARRIAGES; 

too,  for  help  to  subdue  the  strong  affection  which  had 
sprung  up  in  my  heart. 

About  half  past  ten  o'clock  mother  came  to  my  door 
and  said  father  wanted  to  see  me  in  the  study.  I  went 
immediately,  supposing  he  wished  to  see  me  with  ref- 
erence to  Henry ;  but  he  called  me  to  him,  and  when  I 
was  seated  near  him,  he  told  me  that  he  had  been  hav- 
ing some  conversation,  with  reference  to  me,  with  Mr. 
Gordon,  who  desired  to  see  me  in  the  parlor.  I  hid  my 
face,  but  father  put  his  hand  under  my  chin  and  lifted  it 
up  where  he  could  see  me.  "  Strange,"  he  said,  "  that 
this  never  occurred  to  me.  I  had  not  thought  of  my  lit- 
tle Susy  for  such  a  man  as  Mr.  Gordon." 

"  And  does  he  think  of  me  ?  "  was  on  my  b'ps,  but  I 
had  not  courage  to  ask,  and  soon  father  led  me  to  the 
parlor.  "  Here  is  my  little  girl,"  said  he,  as  Mr.  Gordon, 
who  was  impatiently  walking  the  room,  advanced  to 
meet  me,  "  but  I  believe  she  has  lost  the  use  of  her 
tongue." 

I  cannot  remember  much  that  followed,  only  that  I 
trembled  excessively,  and  twisted  the  chain  of  my  locket 
into  every  variety  of  shapes,  and  that  one  little  word  of 
three  letters  was  all  that  I  could  force  my  lips  to  speak, 
in  answer  to  the  rapid  and  passionate  pleading  of  half 
an  hour.  But  my  kind  friend  was  very  considerate,  and 
seemed  to  be  well  satisfied  with  that;  so  well  that  he 
assured  me  he  should  devote  his  whole  life  to  showing 
me  how  grateful  he  was.  When  the  bell  rang  for  din- 
ner I  started  with  surprise  that  it  was  noon,  and  when 
he  led  me  out  he  whispered,  "  my  own  darling,"  so  ten- 
derly, that  I  was  almost  too  happy.  He  conducted  me 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  99 

up  to  father  and  mother,  and  said  with  great  emotion, 
"  Susy  allows  me  to  hope  that  some  time  I  may  claim 
her  hand." 

They  kissed  me  tenderly,  but  Gracie  seemed  to  be 
surprised  that  she  received  no  more  attention.  If  I  could 
only  hear  that  Henry  is  happy,  I  should  be  so  glad.  I 
wonder  \vhat  Eleanor  will  say ! 

After  tea  Mr.  Gordon  asked  me  to  walk  with  him, 
and  with  mother's  approbation  I  did  so.  We  went  to 
the  little  grove,  and  there,  seated  upon  the  mound,  with 
my  head  resting  upon  his  shoulder,  he  told  me  all  the 
long  story  of  his  love,  his  struggles  with  himself;  first, 
because  he  did  not  think  it  right  for  a  clergyman  to 
marry  one  who  was  not  professedly  a  Christian,  and 
then  on  account  of  Henry.  This  was  the  reason  he  de- 
clined teaching  me.  He  really  feared  his  own  strength 
to  resist  the  temptation  of  telling  me  his  love,  if  placed 
so  often  in  my  society.  This,  too,  was  the  reason  that 
he  could  not  advise  me  with  reference  to  Henry.  "  You 
little  knew,"  said  he,  "  what  a  tumult  your  confession 
caused  in  my  heart,  or  you  would  have  pitied  me  too.  But 
sometime  you  shall  know  all.  There  is  not  a  thought 
of  my  heart,  dear  one,  that  I  do  not  long  to  share  with 
you.  Oh,  how  earnestly  I  have  prayed  for  this  time ! " 

I  drank  in  his  words  with  the  eagerness  the  parched 
earth  does  the  pure  springs  from  Heaven.  I  was  too 
happy  to  reply,  until  he  urged  me  to  say  how  long  since 
I  first  regarded  him  with  interest. 

"  Always,"  I  replied,  in  a  whisper.  "  Only  I  did  not 
understand  my  own  feelings.  It  was  not  till  last  night 
that  I  knew  why  I  could  not  love  Henry." 


100  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

I  shall  not  tell  even  you,  my  dear  journal,  how  he 
thanked  me.  How  could  I  ever  think  he  had  no  soul  ? 
He  is  all  soul.  Oh,  he  is  a  great  deal  too  good  for  me ! 
How  safe  I  shall  feel  with  such  a  friend  to  direct  me !  I 
told  him  I  wished  to  have  the  engagement  kept  secret 
for  a  while,  on  Henry's  account.  He  replied  that  he  dis- 
approved of  any  secrecy  in  such  matters.  He  had  seen 
much  evil  arising  from  it,  and  that  now  he  knew  what 
happiness  was,  he  could  not  keep  from  showing  it  in  my 
presence,  though  he  said  softly,  "  I  have  too  much  regard 
for  your  blushes,  my  Susy,  to  embarrass  you  by  any  pub- 
lic attention.  However,  as  I  still  wished  to  avoid  giv- 
ing Squire  Wells's  family  unnecessary  pain,"  he  said,  if 
I  would  reward  him  in  private,  he  would  try  not  to  tell 
too  plainly  how  rich  and  happy  he  felt. 

Poor  Mrs.  Sandford  came  to  her  washing  to-day  with 
a  very  sad  face.  The  change  was  so  great,  from  her 
usually  good  humored  one,  that  I  immediately  perceived 
it,  and  asked  her  what  was  the  trouble.  She  caught  up 
the  corner  of  her  apron  and  sobbed  out,  "  Oh,  Miss  Susan, 
widow  Hill's  been  and  told  Roland  that  I'd  got  a  family 
o'  children,  and  he's  gone  off  and  left  me." 

"  Why  should  he  go  off  on  that  account  ?  "  I  asked,  in 
surprise,  "  of  course  he  knew  it  before." 

«  I'd  allus  put  'em  to  bed  afore  he  came,"  she  answered 
with  a  fresh  burst  of  grief. 

I  was  so  astonished  at  the  idea  of  hiding  so  important 
a  fact  from  a  man  whom  she  was  going  to  many,  that  I 
was  dumb,  and  Mrs.  Sandford  finding  that  I  had  no  words 
to  comfort  her,  wiped  her  eyes  and  returned  to  her  wash- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  101 

ing.  From  what  mother  ascertained  afterwards,  of  a 
gentleman  who  called,  she  has  only  lost  the  privilege  of 
maintaining  one  more  by  her  arduous  efforts,  for  Roland, 
though  certainly  temperate,  was  by  no  means  industrious, 
and  had  revelled  in  the  thought  of  a  smart,  active  wife, 
who  by  her  diligence  would  prevent  the  necessity  of  any 
labor  on  his  part. 

But  the  forsaken  widow  could  not  at  once  be  brought 
to  feel  that  she  ought  to  be  thankful  instead  of  sad.  Her 
youthful  lover  had  twined  himself  closely  around  her  af- 
fections,, and  she  had  fondly  hoped  that  he  would  prove 
a  kind  husband  to  her,  and  after  he  had  once  got  over 
the  surprise  of  finding  himself  the  father  of  four  children, 
that  he  would  be  an  indulgent  parent  to  them. 

This  was  the  afternoon  for  Eleanor  and  I  to  recite. 
Though  I  found  it  almost  impossible  for  me  to  fix  my 
attention  upon  the  lesson,  on  dreams  in  Abercrombie ; 
yet  I  at  length  succeeded  in  mastering  it ;  but  Eleanor 
did  not  come,  and  when  I  went  into  the  parlor  and  pre- 
sented my  book,  Mr.  Gordon  very  deliberately  shut  it  up 
and  said,  "  I  cannot  talk  about  other  people's  dreams,  I 
have  a  dream  of  my  own,"  he  added,  trying  to  make  me 
give  up  the  deportment  of  a  scholar,  for  that  of  a  friend. 
"  It  is  so  absorbing  that  I  fear  I  shall  not  do  much  until 
it  is  realized.  So,  Susy,  as  you  have  your  hand  in  ap- 
pointing the  '  happy  day,'  I  wish  you  would  be  good 
enough  to  appoint  mine." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  raising  my  eyes  for  just  one  glance  into 
his  beaming  face,  "  in  a  little  more  than  three  years  I 
shall  be  of  age,  then  if  you  invite  me  to  your  wedding, 
and  father  and  mother  are  willing,  I  will  attend  it." 
9* 


102  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

«  Susy,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  would  not  condemn  me 

to  such  a " ,  he  began  to  say,  but  then  he  stopped, 

and  with  a  very  roguish  expression,  added,  "  Susan,  will 
you  promise  me  that  you  will  be  married  then?" 

"When?" 

"  When  you  are  of  age." 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  though  somewhat  surprised,  at 
his  manner. 

"  Well,  then,"  he  said,  turning  away  to  conceal  a  tri- 
umphant expression,  "  I  will  try  to  be  satisfied  with  that 
But  remember,  you  are  not  to  retract  your  promise. 
Come,  my  love,  repeat  it  after  me.  "  I  solemnly  promise, 
if  my  life  is  spared,  and  my  parents  consent,  to  be  mar- 
ried to  Charles  Gordon,  on  the  day  I  am  of  age,  provided 
he  still  wishes  it." 

Though  wondering  much  at  his  eagerness,  and  yet  de- 
sire to  postpone  it  so  long,  I  repeated  the  form  of  promise 
as  he  wished. 

"Oh,  Susy!"  said  he,  "you  are  a  darling,  innocent 
little  girl,  and  I  feel  almost  wicked  at  taking  advantage 
of  you,  but  the  temptation  is  too  strong.  After  tea,  Mr. 
Gordon  asked  father  if  he  had  a  copy  of  the  revised  stat- 
utes, and  begged  the  use  of  it  for  a  few  moments.  He 
is  full  as  lively  as  Thomas  now,  and  sprang  up  stairs  to 
the  study,  two  steps  at  a  time,  found  the  book  and 
brought  it  down.  I  was  washing  the  cups,  when  he 
turned  to  a  passage,  and  brought  it  to  me. 

"  There,  Susy,"  he  said,  with  a  very  arch  look.  "  You 
must  be  in  a  hurry  if  you  have  any  preparation  to  make ; 
you  have  only  a  fortnight,  and  I  must  look  out  for  the 
publishment  at  once.  See,  and  he  pointed  with  his  fin- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  103 

ger  to  the  passage,  stating  that  a  woman  reached  her 
majority  at  eighteen. 

I  dropped  the  spoon  I  held  in  my  hand,  and  my  heart 
actually  stood  still,  as  I  tried  to  grasp  the  book. 

"  What  is  it,  Susan  ? "  inquired  father,  seeing  my  sur- 
prise. 

Mr.  Gordon  answered  for  me,  "  I  was  convincing  her 
by  the  laws  of  Massachusetts,"  he  said,  gayly,  "  that  her 
wedding  day  was  in  a  fortnight." 

"  Laws  or  no  laws,"  exclaimed  mother,  "  I  shall  have  a 
word  to  say  on  that  point." 

"  I  should  like  to  read  the  chapter  and  verse,  rejoined 
father,  approaching  to  take  the  book.  It  would  require 
a  pretty  strong  law  to  take  my  child  from  me,  on  so  short 
notice." 

"  Oh,  Susan ! "  whispered  Mr.  Gordon,  "  when  they 
are  both  against  me,  you  will  not  leave  me  to  stand  my 
ground  alone ! " 

He  had  such  a  comic  look  of  distress,  that  I  burst  into 
a  hearty  laugh,  when  he  explained  to  father  and  mother 
the  ground  of  his  argument. 

"  But  where  do  you  intend  to  carry  her  then  ? "  asked 
mother,  "  you  have  no  home." 

"  They  are  only  waiting  my  consent,  in  B ,"  Mr. 

Gordon  replied,  "  to  give  me  a  call.  They  have  already 
ascertained  the  wishes  of  the  people,  and  are  prepared  to 
give  me  the  use  of  the  parsonage,  and  a  comfortable  sup- 
port. In  order  to  answer  their  call  affirmatively,  I  have 
only  been  waiting  to  obtain  Susy's.  I  have  a  few  thou- 
sands laid  by  to  furnish  our  house ;  so  you  see  we  have 
only  to  get  into  it  as  soon  as  possible." 


104  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

"  I  acknowledge,  my  dear  sir,"  responded  father.  "  that 
your  plans  are  laid  with  your  accustomed  prudence ;  but 
you  forget  how  young  Susy  is,  and  that  her  mother  and 
I,  cannot  spare  her  at  present  Indeed  I  do  not  see  how 
we  can  at  all,"  and  father's  face  grew  very  serious.  "  I 
only  consented  to  Henry's  wishes  on  the  promise  that  he 
would  not  ask  her  to  be  married  until  he  had  studied  his 
profession,  and  established  himself." 

"  I  will  also  promise  that,"  said  Mr.  Gordon,  more  se- 
riously. "  I  grant  that  I  am  asking  a  great  favor,  but 
would  it  be  any  less  trying  to  part  with  her  at  some  future 
day  ?  I  know  she  is  young ;  but  I  should  not  wish  her 
one  day  older.  She  will  adapt  herself  far  more  readily 
to  the  people  with  whom  she  lives,  and  it  shall  be  my 
care,"  he  added,  advancing  to  me,  and  standing  by  my 
side,  "  to  relieve  her  as  much  as  possible  from  trials." 

Mother  wiped  her  eyes,  and  said  there  would  be  time 
enough  to  decide  upon  these  subjects  hereafter ;  but  Mr. 
Gordon  insisted  there  was  no  time  like  the  present,  and 
after  a  long  conversation,  which  lasted  most  of  the  even- 
ing, during  which  I  was  absent  from  the  room,  father  and 
mother  consented  to  part  with  me  at  Thanksgiving.  Of 
this,  I  was  duly  informed  by  the  gentleman,  after  pray- 
ers. So  I  must  lay  aside  my  pen,  and  go  to  work  with 
my  needle. 

Next  Sabbath  was  the  time  when  Mr.  Gordon  was 

expecting  to  give  an  answer  to  his  call  from  B ,  but 

he  received  a  letter  from  the  committee  of  a  church  in 
the  city,  earnestly  inviting  him  to  preach  as  a  candidate 
for  settlement.  He  put  the  letter  at  once  into  my  hand, 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  105 

and  asked  me  what  he  should  do,  but  I  would  give  no 
opinion.  Father,  however,  advised  him  to  go,  and  he 
has  written  that  he  will  do  so.  Aunt  Susan  wrote  me  a 
very  kind  letter,  congratulating  me  on  my  prospects,  and 
saying  that  as  mother  would  not,  she  supposed,  be  equal 
to  taking  such  a  journey,  she  would  meet  me  in  the  city, 
and  assist  me  to  buy  furniture  for  the  parsonage.  This 
was  before  the  other  place  was  thought  of.  She  sent  me 
fifty  dollars  to  purchase  linen,  etc.,  for  bedding.  At  the 
bottom,  she  added  a  postscript  to  father,  saying  it  has 
always  been  her  intention  to  provide  for  me,  and  that 
funds  to  furnish  a  house,  have  been  placed  with  her 
banker  in  the  city,  and  could  be  called  for  at  any  time. 
How  very  kind  in  her,  for  though  father  will  delight  to 
do  all  he  can,  yet  his  salary  is  only  sufficient  to  meet  his 
wants  from  year  to  year,  and  the  small  sum  he  had  laid 
by,  has  been  much  decreased  by  Thomas's  expenses  at 
CoUege. 

To-day  Mr.  Gordon  walked  with  me  to  Dame  Street- 
er's,  where  I  have  been  to  read  to  her  for  the  last  time, 
and  have  installed  Bessie  in  my  place.  After  leaving  me 
there  for  an  hour,  he  returned  for  me,  and  we  pro- 
longed our  -walk,  as  he  had  some  subjects  upon  which  he 
wished  to  talk  with  me.  He  has  been  for  three  Sabbaths 
to  preach  in  the  city,  and  on  many  accounts  he  is  pleased 
with  the  society.  The  church  have  already  given  him  a 
call,  and  the  parish  are  to  meet  for  that  purpose  next 
week.  The  salary  they  offer  is  nearly  double  what  they 

can  give  in  B ,  but  there  is  the  expense  of  a  house, 

which  he  has  ascertained  will  be  five  or  six  hundred  dol- 


106  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

lars,  while  the  parsonage,  a  very  neat  two  story  dwelling 
with  green  blinds,  together  with  a  barn  and  two  acres  of 

ground,  go  with  the  salary  at  B .  But  the  salary  is 

not  the  chief  consideration  with  Mr.  Gordon,  though  he 
says  a  minister  in  settling,  ought  to  be  sure  that  he  can 
live  upon  such  a  support  as  the  people  offer,  and  this 
there  is  no  doubt  but  we  could  do  at  either  place ;  but 
the  question  is,  where  can  he  do  the  most  good  ?  "  In 
the  present  case,"  he  said,  "  after  a  careful  examination 
of  the  subject,  I  am  unable  to  decide  between  the  two. 
My  prepossessions  I  own  are  in  favor  of  one  of  them,  but 
now  I  have  a  right  to  your  opinion." 

"  And  if  it  does  not  conform  to  yours,  you  will  tell 
me." 

«  Yes  » 

"  Then  I  choose  B ." 

"  I  shall  write  at  once  to  the  city,  and  arrest  the  pro- 
ceeding? of  the  parish." 

I  was  frightened  that  the  subject  was  to  be  so  summa- 
rily disposed  of  by  my  choice,  and  said,  "  what  if  I  had 
chosen  to, go  to  the  city?" 

"Then  we  should  probably  have  gone  there.  The 
committee  assured  me  the  desire  for  me  to  stay,  was  very 
strong." 

"  But  you  said  you  had  a  choice." 

"  Your  choice  was  mine." 

"  I  must  be  very  careful  what  I  do  and  say,  if  it  is  to 
have  such  an  influence  with  you." 

«  Indeed  you  must,  Susy,"  he  answered,  seriously,  «  It 
has  now  become  my  duty  as  well  as  my  delightful  privi- 
lege, to  endeavor  by  all  the  means  in  my  power,  to  make 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  107 

you  happy,  and  I  am  glad  to  know  that  you  have  natur- 
ally not  only  a  warm  heart,  but  a  cheerful,  even  temper- 
ament.    Your  ardent  affection  for  your  parents,  and  es- 
pecially for  your  brothers  and  sisters,  confirmed  the  admi- 
ration which  your  sweet  voice,  as  you  came  dancing  into 
the  room  with  Gracie,  and  your  warm  blushes  had  won. 
Do  you  remember  when  I  went  up  to  look  at  the  room 
with  your  father  ?     Oh,  what  a  beautiful  picture  that 
was !  and  you  were  the  prominent  character  in  it,  as  you 
sat  soothing  your  brother,  with   Gracie  in  your  lap.     I 
have  never  had  a  home,  Susy,  since  I  was  ten  years  old, 
when  my  mother  died,  and  the  family  were  broken  up  ; 
and  when  I  was  admitted  into  such  a  family  scene,  I 
could  not  willingly  leave  it.     I  have  had  day  dreams  ever 
since  that  hour.     Often  my  books  which  you  thought  so 
absorbing,  were  filled  with  them,  and  when  I  turned  over 
the  leaves  and  tried  to  fix  my  attention  upon  the  subject 
of  which  it  treated,  I  could  only  see  a  rosy,  smiling  face, 
with  eyes  glancing  up  to  me  for  one  moment,  and  then 
drooped  again.     Did  you  think  I  should  be  willing  to  sit 
at  table  where  I  could  not  see  those  eyes  ?     But  when 
you  were  sick  with  the  scarlet  fever,  I  understood  fully 
my  own  heart,  and  found  that  I  must  fly.     I  went  away 
and  staid  as  long  as  I  could,  and  then  returned  promis- 
ing myself  that  I  would  give  way  to  such  feelings  no 
longer.     Sometimes  you  looked  in  my  face  with  wonder 
that  I  had  grown  so  cold,  and  it  required  all  my  power 
over  myself  to  refrain  from  catching  you  to  my  heart  and 
telling  you  how  dear  you  were  to  me.     But  if  I  could,  I 
would  not  have  you  understand  the  agony  I  experienced 
when  after  my  prayers  for  your  conversion  had  been  an- 


108  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES. 

swered,  you  came  to  me  so  unconsciously  and  told  me 
you  were  unhappy. 

After  prayers  that  night,  I  went  to  my  room,  and  once 
I  was  wild  enough  to  imagine  that  you  did  love  me,  and 
was  rendered  unhappy  by  not  knowing  that  your  love 
was  returned.  But  when  you  so  frankly  confessed  the 
cause  of  your  sorrow,  I  would  have  sacrificed  all  my 
own  hope  of  happiness  in  your  love,  rather  than  to  act 
so  dishonorable  a  part  as  to  strive  to  win  you  from 
Henry.  But  now  that  you  know  my  whole  heart,  I 
want  you  to  promise  that  if  ever  we  differ  in  sentiment, 
and  my  views  of  duty  will  not  allow  me  to  comply  with 
your  wishes,  that  you  will  bear  in  mind  that  it  is  no  want 
of  the  affection  which  I  now  feel,  that  prompts  me  to 
such  a  course. 

The  parish  at  B have  been  very  uneasy,  but  will 

now  be  relieved  by  receiving  their  answer  next  Sabbath. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE  FIRST  MARRIAGE. 

I  AM  to  be  married  to-morrow  morning,  and  after  a 

short  journey  to  M ,  to  visit  aunt  Susy,  we  are  to  go 

directly  to  the  parsonage,  which  by  the  kindness  of  dear 
aunt,  seems  to  me,  at  least,  like  a  little  paradise.  Every- 
thing is  in  order  there,  even  to  the  clothes  in  the  drawers 
and  closets.  Mr.  Gordon  has  a  delightful  room  for  a 
study,  and  a  very  good  collection  of  books  for  a  licen- 
tiate. Then  my  small  library  fills  the  book-case  in  the  sit- 
ting-room. For  the  last  week,  Thomas  has  been  unwea- 
ried in  his  efforts  to  get  everything  in  readiness  for  this 
great  event.  Dear  Eleanor  too  has  been  full  of  zeal.  It 
was  a  source  of  great  pain  to  me,  after  Henry  left,  that 
Eleanor  wholly  avoided  me,  and  when  I  met  her,  was 
very  reserved;  but  partly  owing  to  the  influence  of 
Thomas,  and  partly  to  the  representation  of  her  brother, 
she  soon  became  reconciled,  and  proved  herself  the  dear 
friend  she  always  has  been. 

Dear  Mrs.  Wells !  Though  she  expressed  keen  disap- 
pointment at  the  result  of  Henry's  proposal,  yet  she  did 
not  allow  it  to  influence  her  feelings  toward  me. 

As  soon  as  she  knew,  that  I  was  getting  ready  to  be 
married,  she  sent  me  a  generous  supply  of  silver-table, 
dessert,  and  tea  spoons,  two  butter  knives  and  a  cake 
basket.  Eleanor  gave  me  a  variety  of  small  ornamental 

10  (109) 


110  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

articles  which  I  could  not  buy.  Dear  Henry  acted  no- 
bly in  representing  my  conduct  to  them  so  as  entirely  to 
shield  me  from  blame.  I  am  glad  to  hear  of  his  good 
health,  and  returning  spirits. 

Mother  has  made  me  very  happy  to-day  by  promising 
to  let  Gracie  pass  a  month  with  me  when  I  return  from 

my  journey.     As  the  parish  in  B is   large,  Mr. 

Gordon  has  purchased  a  horse,  and  the  people  pre- 
sented him  with  a  chaise,  so  that  I  can  ride  home,  he 
says,  whenever  I  am  homesick. '  But  I  intend  to  be 
contented,  and  to  make  a  good  wife. 

To-day  is  Christmas.  I  have  been  a  wife  four  weeks, 
and  in  my  own  pleasant  home  almost  three  weeks.  1 
have  a  very  neat,  active  young  girl  as  a  servant,  and 
consider  myself  very  fortunate  in  having  been  able  to 
procure  one,  who  being  a  Protestant  will  attend  our 
church,  and  join  us  at  family  prayers. 

My  husband,  (how  curiously  that  name  looks  in  my 
diary!)  says  that  I  am  a  dear  little  housekeeper.  He 
loves  to  hear  me  sing  as  I  go  about  the  room  sweeping  or 
dusting,  and  says  he  can  write  better  when  he  hears  my 
cheerful  voice,  because  he  knows  my  heart  is  at  rest.  I 
could  hardly  be  otherwise  than  good,  with  one  who  is  so 
easily  satisfied.  No  matter  with  what  I  spread  my 
table,  he  is  always  pleased,  and  finds  something  about  it 
to  praise.  The  house  was  put  in  thorough  repair,  every 
part  of  it  being  papered  and  painted  before  my  furniture 
was  brought  from  the  city,  and  every  article  being  new, 
Nora  and  I  have  no  excuse  for  untidiness.  I  have 
already  made  a  number  of  calls  upon  our  people,  though 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEUDED    LIFE.  Ill 

entirely  among  the  very  poor  or  sick.  Our  other  parish- 
ioners have  most  of  them  called  upon  us,  and  appear 
very  friendly.  I  cannot  but  love  them  when  they  speak 
in  such  terms  of  affection  of  my  dear  husband.  I  find 
that  my  having  always  lived  in  a  minister's  family  is  a 
great  help  to  me  here.  It  makes  it  much  easier  for  me 
to  interest  myself  in  so  many  who  are,  as  yet,  utter 
strangers. 

On  the  Sabbath  I  went  into  the  Sabbath  school,  and 
was  immediately  invited  to  take  a  class.  I  consented  to 
do  so  for  the  day,  and  told  the  superintendent  that  if  Mi. 
Gordon  thought  it  best,  I  would  keep  it  permanently. 
After  service  I  related  what  had  occurred,  and  asked  him 
if  I  might  keep  the  class. 

He  smiled  at  the  question,  and  replied  pleasantly, 
"  have  you  forgotten,  my  dear,  that  you  are  of  age  ?  " 

"  And  married,  too,"  I  added,  "  so  that  I  can  do  just  as 
I  please  ;  but  I  would  like  your  advice." 

"  That  I  will  give  with  pleasure.  As  the  Sabbath 
school  meets  at  noon,  I  can  foresee  many  inconvenien- 
ces to  you  in  going  at  that  hour.  For  instance,  when 
I  exchange  and  you  have  the  clergyman  to  entertain ; 
but  I  find  you  are  quite  ingenious  in  overcoming  such 
difficulties,  so  if  your  health  will  endure  the  additional 
fatigue,  I  advise  you  to  take  the  class." 

"  I  am  glad  you  feel  so,  and,  as  I  am  perfectly  well,  I 
shall  inform  Mr.  Hall  of  my  intention  to  be  a  teacher." 

I  thought  I  would  not  tell  my  husband ;  but  when 
I  asked  his  consent,  I  really  did  forget  that  I  was  of  age. 
I  presume  that  Mr.  Hall  thought  me  a  very  dutiful  wife  ; 
and  I  can  now  understand  the  meaning  of  a  quiet  smile 


112  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

which  played  for  a  moment  about  his  mouth,  as  I  an- 
swered him.  I  have  been  so  long  accustomed  to  going 
to  my  father  and  mother  for  their  consent  to  my  wishes, 
that  it  would  seem  very  odd  for  me  to  take  any  impor- 
tant step  alone. 

Yesterday  began  a  new  year.  Father,  mother  and  all 
the  family  passed  the  day  with  me,  and  left  dear  Oracle 
to  make  her  promised  visit.  I  was  very  ambitious  to 
have  everything  pass  off  pleasantly,  and  by  arising  early 
I  was  able  to  make  most  of  my  preparations  for  dinner 
and  supper,  so  that  I  was  with  them  until  half  an  hour 
before  the  time  for  meals,  when  I  went  out  to  arrange 
the  tables,  and  Gracie  followed  me  everywhere.  Mother 
asked  me,  in  a  whisper,  if  I  wished  assistance  from  her ; 
but  I  told  her  all  was  prepared.  Before  she  went  home 
she  told  Mr.  Gordon  that  she  thought  he  had  a  very 
excellent  cook. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  glancing  at  me  with  a  smile,  "  but 
her  skill  in  that  department  is  only  a  small  part  of  her 
qualifications  for  a  good  wife." 

I  acknowledge  that  a  feeling  of  pride  arose  in  my 
heart  at  this  unexpected  and  undeserved  praise ;  but  I 
hope  it  will  serve  as  an  inducement  to  me  to  do  better. 
Since  my  return  from  M—  — ,  I  have  only  been  home 
twice,  though  I  thought  I  should  go  twice  in  a  week ; 
but  I  find  my  time  so  occupied,  and  with  such  delightful 
duties,  that  I  have  not  thought  of  homesickness.  Every 
day  I  become  more  interested  in  our  people.  They  are 
warm-hearted  and  very  sincere ;  and  so  far  I  have  not 
for  a  moment  regretted  the  choice  I  made.  A  few  eve- 


OR,  THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  113 

nings  since,  when  some  of  our  people  were  visiting  us, 
Mr.  Gordon  told  them  they  must  thank  me  for  his  being 
their  minister ;  and  since  that  time  quite  a  number  have 
personally  expressed  their  gratitude  to  me,  and  have 
said  that  it  was  a  great  trial  to  them  when  they  feared 
he  would  accept  the  call  to  the  city. 

I  find  it  impossible  to  be  as  regular  in  my  writing  as 
before  I  was  married.  Since  new  year's  day  I  have  not 
been  able  to  find  time,  and  now  that  I  have  an  hour 
while  my  husband  has  gone  to  the  weekly  lecture,  I  have 
little  inclination.  It  is  a  stormy  evening,  and  I  fear  will 
be  a  dreadful  night  at  sea,  though  it  is  seldom  that  a 
ship  is  wrecked  on  our  coast.  I  presume  there  will  be 
very  few  at  the  lecture  room,  but  I  washed  to  go,  and 
think  myself  as  well  able  as  my  husband.  When  I  pro- 
posed it,  however,  he  was  very  decided  in  refusing  his 
consent,  and  as  I  pretended  that  I  thought  myself  old 
enough  to  judge,  and  really  intended  to  go  out,  he  actu- 
ally forbade  it.  And  here  I  am,  after  passing  nearly 
half  my  time  since  he  went,  in  crying  and  feeling  very, 
very  much  ashamed  of  myself.  I  will  write  do\vn  all 
my  grievances  and  see  how  they  look  upon  paper. 

This  afternoon,  as  my  husband  was  much  occupied  in 
preparing  his  sermon  for  the  evening,  I  pleased  myself 
with  the  thought  of  surprising  him  with  something  par- 
ticularly nice  for  his  supper.  At  length  all  was  ready, 
and  I  rang  the  tea  bell,  -which  as  usual  he  promptly  an- 
swered, and  took  his  place  at  the  table.  I  was  already 
seated  at  the  tray,  while  before  his  plate,  in  my  best 
covered  dish,  was  a  pile  of  smoking  hot  waffles,  buttered, 
10* 


114  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

sugared,  and  flavored,  as  I  thought,  to  his  taste.  I  was 
very  happy,  and  not  a  little  proud  of  my  cakes,  which 
were  my  first  attempt,  and  I  expected  no  little  praise ; 
but  what  was  my  disappointment  when,  after  having 
invoked  a  blessing,  Mr.  Gordon  lifted  the  cover,  deliber- 
ately helped  me,  then  himself,  and  began  to  eat  without 
saying  one  word.  I  might  have  spared  myself  so  much 
trouble,  and  such  a  red  face,  for  he  ate  one  plateful  after 
another,  without  even  appearing  conscious  that  he  was 
eating  at  all;  or  if  eating,  nothing  more  than  plain  bread 
and  butter.  I  poured  the  tea  and  passed  his  cup ;  but  my 
lip 'quivered,  and  I  could  not  keep  back  my  tears.  It  was 
with  difficulty,  indeed,  that  I  could  eat  at  all,  and  nearly 
hqlf  the  waffles,  upon  which  I  had  expended  so  much 
time  and  pains,  remained  in  the  dish.  As  we  arose  from 
table  he  noticed  my  flushed  countenance,  and  moistened 
eyes,  and  quickly  asked  the  cause ;  but  I  was  ashamed 
to  tell  him,  and  abruptly  turned  away.  After  following 
me  to  the  closet,  and  trying  in  vain  to  find  out  the  reason 
of  my  grave  looks,  he  returned  to  the  study.  When  I 
rang  the  bell  for  prayers,  he  merely  came  and  said  it 
would  much  oblige  him  if  I  would  defer  the  service  till 
after  the  lecture.  I  did  not  see  him  again  until  the 
church  bell  rang  for  the  lecture. 

Evening  before  last,  while  I  was  writing,  my  hus- 
band returned.  I  was  quite  ashamed  of  myself,  that  such 
a  trifle  should  put  me  out  of  humor,  and  when  he  came 
in,  I  made  an  attempt  to  appear  as  usual.  I  arose  and 
busied  myself  with  putting  away  his  coat  and  overshoes, 
taking  care  to  keep  my  face  turned  from  the  light.  I 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  115 

then  took  the  bell  in  my  hand  to  ring  for  Nora  to  come 
to  prayers,  when  he  called  me  to  him,  and  wished  me  to 
sit  on  his  knee,  but  upon  the  plea  that  he  must  be  tired, 
I  sat  down  by  his  side. 

"  I  cannot  attend  prayers,"  he  said,  gravely,  "  until  I 
know  the  "cause  of  that  heavy  shadow  upon  your  brow." 

I  sprang  forward  to  put  up  a  brand  which  I  thought  in 
danger  of  falling,  and  he  quietly  -waited  for  me  to  reply. 
At  length  I  said,  "  shall  I  ring  ?  It  is  nothing  I  can  tell 
you." 

"  Yes,  if  you  please." 

Even  after  I  had  the  bell  in  my  hand,  I  hesitated  and 
thought  I  would  confess  all  my  foolish  disappoint- 
ment ;  but  pride  said  "  no,"  and  I  rang.  Nora  came  in, 
and  I  passed  him  the  Bible  and  Hymn  Book ;  but  he 
only  read  a  Psalm,  and  made  a  short  prayer.  If  it  was 
short,  I  was  sure  he  meant  it  all  for  me,  and  my  heart 
sank  within  me.  It  really  seemed  dreadful,  to  have  this 
slight  coolness  between  us. 

"  Susan,"  he  said,  when  Nora  had  retired,  "  is  it  true 
that  there  is  nothing  in  your  heart  causing  you  grief 
which  you  can  tell  me  ?  " 

Oh,  how  I  wished  I  had  something  that  I  could  tell ! 
But  the  more  I  thought  of  my  folly,  the  more  ashamed  I 
was  of  it,  and  reluctant  to  confess  it.  After  waiting  a 
moment,  I  replied,  "  I  have  nothing  to  tell." 

He  turned  a  shade  paler,  and  taking  the  lamp,  gazed 
sadly  in  my  face  for  a  moment,  and  returned  to  his  study, 
when  I  went  to  bed,  and  cried  myself  to  sleep.  In  the 
morning  when  I  awoke  my  heart  was  so  heavy,  that  I 
thought  something  must  have  happened ;  and  soon  the 


116  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

recollection  of  what  passed  last  evening  flashed  across 
my  mind.  I  determined  at  once  to  confess  all  to  my  hus- 
band, and  ask  him  to  forgive  me,  but  found  he  had  al- 
ready arisen  and  left  the  room.  At  breakfast  he  was  as 
usual,  exceedingly  polite ;  but  as  he  made  no  farther  at- 
tempt to  win  my  confidence,  I  could  not  bring  myself 
to  introduce  the  subject.  Soon  after  prayers,  he  came 
from  the  study,  and  found  me  in  tears ;  but  I  instantly 
wiped  them  away. 

"  Susan,"  he  said,  very  mildly,  though  seriously,  "  I  am 
going  to  the  farther  end  of  the  parish  to  see  a  sick  man. 
Though  the  sleighing  is  not  very  smooth,  yet  I  think 
this  bracing  air  will  do  you  good.  Will  you  accompany 
me?" 

I  shook  my  head,  but  before  he  left  the  room,  which  he 
did  at  once,  without  another  word,  I  would  gladly  have 
accepted  his  proposal.  I  had  no  sooner  seen  him  drive 
from  the  yard,  than  I  retired  to  the  study,  that  I  might 
be  free  from  interruption,  and  made  a  business  of  cherish- 
ing my  grief  until  (foolish  girl  that  I  was !)  I  considered 
myself  a  most  unhappy  wife.  I  even  meditated  going 
home  to  make  a  visit ;  but  as  I  should  be  obliged  to  wade 
through  three  miles  of  deep  snow,  I  gave  that  up  as  im- 
possible. For  the  first  time  since  our  marriage,  he  re- 
mained away  from  home  all  day ;  and  toward  night  I 
became  very  nervous,  and  thought  some  accident  must 
have  occurred  to  detain  him.  As  night  approached,  I 
worried  so  much  that  I  became  really  sick  with  nervous 
headache.  The  slightest  sound  would  make  my  heart 
beat  wildly,  and  every  moment  I  expected  a  messenger 
to  summon  me  to  my  sick  or  dying  husband.  Oh !  what 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OP    WEDDED    LIFE.  117 

would  I  not  have  given  to  have  been  assured  of  his  safe- 
ty !  And  yet  I  no  sooner  saw  him  driving  as  usual  into 
the  yard,  unharness  and  feed  his  horse,  than  all  my  anxi- 
ety turned  into  indignation,  and  I  really  was  pleased  to 
think  I  had  now  something  to  complain  of.  But  this 
thought  did  not  relieve  my  head,  and  I  was  obliged 
though  with  great  reluctance  to  resort  to  my  pillow  on 
the  sofa. 

"  Susan,  are  you  ill,  my  dear,"  he  asked,  quickly  ap- 
proaching me  as  he  entered.  I  only  replied  by  putting 
my  hand  to  my  head. 

"  Too  much  heat,"  he  added,  in  a  low  voice ;  and 
pressing  his  fingers  upon  my  pulse,  "  how  long  have  you 
been  so  ill,  my  love  ?  " 

Though  my  heart  was  swelling  with  mingled  emotions, 
I  could  articulate  only  indistinctly,  "  for  several  hours ! " 
He  immediately  left  me,  and  I  heard  him  talking  with 
Nora  in  the  kitchen.  I  was  really  vexed,  as  I  heard  her 
tell  him  that  it  was  entirely  in  consequence  of  my  worry 
for  fear  something  had  happened  to  him,  and  that  I  had 
done  little  but  watch  from  the  window  for  his  approach, 
until  obliged  by  the  pain  to  lie  down.  Nora  immediately 
followed  him  into  the  room  with  the  tea,  which  had  been 
waiting  nearly  an  hour.  I  requested  her  to  remain  and 
pour  a  cup  for  Mr.  Gordon,  as  I  was  not  able  to  rise ;  but 
he  told  her  he  would  not  detain  her,  as  he  could  easily 
wait  upon  himself.  He  then  poured  a  cup  of  tea  for  me, 
and  in  the  midst  of  my  pain  I  could  not  help  smiling,  as 
I  saw  how  carefully  he  sweetened  it  to  my  taste,  then 
toasting  a  cracker  before  the  fire,  he  brought  them  to  me. 
I  tried  to  eat  a  piece ;  but  the  very  smell  of  the  tea  made 


118  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

me  sick,  and  I  could  not  swallow.  He  seemed  really 
distressed ;  but  I  told  him  I  had  no  doubt  a  good  night's 
sleep  would  restore  me. 

After  waiting  a  long  time  for  the  bell,  Nora  came  un- 
called to  take  the  tray,  when  Mr.  Gordon  who  had  been 
holding  my  head  tightly  between  his  hands,  said  softly, 
"  If  you  will  wait  a  few  moments,  Nora,  I  will  eat  some 
supper,  as  I  have  had  no  dinner." 

The  good  girl  was  loud  in  her  exclamations,  and  of- 
fered to  cook  him  a  piece  of  meat ;  but  he  declined  any- 
thing except  what  was  on  the  table.  After  making  a 
slight  repast,  during  which  my  heart  reproached  me,  as  I 
saw  how  pale  he  was,  he  went  to  the  kitchen  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  after  replenishing  the  fire,  gently  lifted 
my  head  from  the  pillow  and  laid  it  upon  his  breast,  as 
he  sat  upon  the  end  of  the  sofa.  Here  he  held  my  throb- 
bing temples  so  firmly  that  I  found  great  relief.  In  a 
few  moments  Nora  came  in  and  brought  me  a  cup  of 
sage  tea,  which  he  had  directed  her  to  make,  and  which 
really  did  me  good.  I  thanked  him  for  his  kindness  in 
ordering  it,  and  said  I  was  so  much  relieved,  I  would  sit 
up ;  but  he  begged  me  to  lie  quietly  a  short  time  longer. 
"  My  dear  wife,"  he  whispered  after  a  moment's  pause, 
"  my  heart  is  very  sad  at  the  thought  that  you  do  not 
realize  all  your  expectations  of  happiness  with  me ;  or  I 
may,  unintentionally,  have  said  something  which  has 
wounded  your  sensitive  heart.  If  so,  dearest,  will  you 
forgive  me  ?  " 

I  burst  into  a  passionate  fit  of  weeping,  so  violent  that 
it  brought  back  my  pain ;  but  as  soon  as  I  could  speak, 
I  told  him  my  trouble  from  beginning  to  end.  I  did  not* 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED  LIFE.  119 

spare  myself,  but  confessed  my  pride  and  my  hard 
thoughts  of  him.  He  soothed  and  comforted  me,  took 
all  the  blame  to  himself,  and  promised  never  to  leave 
me  for  so  long  a  time  if  he  could  possibly  avoid  it.  He 
did  not  think  it  was  foolish  for  me  to  be  disappointed 
about  the  waffles,  and  wondered  how  he  could  have 
been  so  absent  minded.  He  said  he  could  only  account 
for  it  by  the  fact  that  the  subject  of  his  sermon  had  ab- 
sorbed him.  He  begged  me  to  remember  this  for  the  future, 
and  whenever  I  saw  him  abstracted  and  reserved,  to 
speak  of  it  at  onpe,  and  thus  assist  him  to  correct  the 
habit.  After  we  had  talked  of  this  a  long  time,  he  gave 
me  an  account  of  his  visit,  which  was  to  an  aged  man 
by  the  name  of  Rand.  When  I  found  that  while  I  had 
been  indulging  hard  thoughts  toward  my  dear  husband, 
he  had  been  administering  consolation  to  a  sick  and 
apparently  dying  man,  I  experienced  the  keenest  remorse, 
and  made  many  resolutions  that  with  the  help  of  God,  I 
would  never  again  give  way  to  such  feelings.  We  both 
were  so  engrossed  with  our  conversation  that  we  took 
no  heed  to  the  time,  until  the  clock  on  the  mantel  piece 
struck  eleven.  But  even  then  I  could  not  retire  until  I 
had  asked  forgiveness  of  my  heavenly  Father.  I  had 
already  obtained  it  of  my  husband,  and  as  he  started 
from  the  sofa  where  my  head  still  lay  against  his  breast, 
I  whispered  a  request  that  he  would  ask  pardon  of  God 
for  me.  He  complied ;  but  in  such  a  tender  manner  did 
he  represent  my  wants,  and  so  fervently  did  he  implore 
strength  to  be  an  affectionate  husband,  that  my  tears 
flowed  afresh.  One  remark,  which  he  made  as  we  left 
tne  room,  deepened  my  resolutions  to  strive  against  the 


120  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES. 

recurrence  of  such  scenes:  «  Oh,  Susan,"  he  said,  with 
deep  feeling,  "  you  can  hardly  realize  what  a  load  is 
lifted  from  my  heart.  Last  night  when  I  retired  I  bent 
over  you,  and  saw  the  traces  of  tears  upon  your  cheeks, 
and  listened  to  the  deep  sobs  which  ever  and  anon  burst 
from  your  lips.  I  feared  that  you  had  mistaken  your 
affection  for  me,  and  that  I  had  done  wrong  in  asking 
you  to  share  my  lot.  I  could  not-  rest  with  such  fears, 
and  arose,  as  soon  as  it  was  light,  from  a  sleepless 
couch.  Nora's  remark,  when  I  came  home,  that  you 
had  been  anxious  concerning  me,  sent  a  thrill  of  joy 
through  my  breast ;  and  now,  dearest,  you  assure  me 
that  you  do  not  regret  leaving  your  pleasant  home  to 
live  with  me." 

"  I  only  regret,"  I  replied,  my  childishness  and  pride, 
which  caused  you  so  much  pain." 


CHAPTER   X 

WEDDED   LOVE  RESTORED   AT   THE   SEA-SIDE  HOME. 

AT  the  distance  of  a  mile  from  the  parsonage  in  B — , 
in  a  little  ingle  or  nook,  formed  by  a  cessation  of  the 
bold  bluffs,  rising  abruptly  from  the  sea,  is  snugly  nes- 
tled a  small  cottage,  if  such  it  may  be  called,  where 
irom  morn  till  eve,  and  from  eve  till  morn,  may  be  heard 
the  voice  of  God  saying  to  the  great  waters,  "  Thus  far 
but  no  farther."  In  this  quiet  retreat  lived  little  Jamie  Mc- 
Donald, with  his  mother  and  sister ;  and  though  at  a 
distance  from  any  other  habitation,  yet  they  were  not 
afraid.  When  the  storm  raged  and  the  ocean  roared, 
they  only  kept  the  closer  within  their  neat  and  cheerful 
abode.  They  felt  safe  under  the  protecting  care  of  Him 
who  giveth  "  to  the  sea  his  decree  that  the  waters  should 
not  pass  his  commandment."  When  the  long  days  of 
summer  came,  then  would  Jamie  lead  his  little  sister 
carefully  down  the  low  bluff  upon  which  their  home 
was  built,  and,  gently  lifting  her  from  stone  to  stone, 
would  soon  reach  the  smooth,  hard  beach,  which  lay  for 
a  mile  in  extent  before  the  cottage  door.  Here  these 
merry  children  were  never  tired  of  playing :  sometimes 
collecting  a  quantity  of  clean  shells,  and  carrying  them 
to  a  rock  out  of  the  reach  of  the  common  tides,  and  using 
them  for  plates,  with  which  they  could  set  out  their 
11  (121) 


122  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

noonday  repast ;  sometimes  building  houses  of  the  fine, 
clean  sand,  which  covered  the  beach. 

Jamie  and  Lottie  had  never  known  another  home; 
and  they  loved  the  bright  waves  which  ever  kept  rolling 
and  breaking  in  white  surf  upon  the  shore.  They  could 
hardly  have  known  how  to  sing  and  shout,  as  they  did 
from  morning  till  night,  without  the  accompaniment  of 
the  breaking  billows.  They  grew  to  be  as  experienced  as 
mariners  in  calculating  the  ebb  and  flow  of  the  tide,  and 
the  length  of  time  before  the  waves  would  rise  to  their 
landmarks. 

But  let  us  leave  Jamie  and  his  sister,  standing  with 
bare  feet  just  out  of  the  reach,  as  they  think,  of  the  next 
wave,  running  backward  and  shouting  with  great  glee, 
as  it  laves  then*  tiny  toes,  and  return  to  the  cottage, 
where  Mrs.  McDonald  is  busy  with  her  work. 

A  year  or  two  before  Jamie  was  born,  Jane  McDonald 
with  her  young  husband,  left  their  native  land,  in  the 
north  of  Scotland,  and  came  to  find  a  home  in  this  free 
country.  She  was  a  worthy  member  of  the  Presbyterian 
church  in  Scotland,  and,  according  to  its  usage,  brought 
with  her  a  letter  of  commendation  to  any  American 
church  where  she  might  locate.  It  was  true  that  neither 
of  them  had  any  distinct  idea  in  what  the  freedom  they 
were  seeking  consisted;  but  wondrous  reports  had 
reached  them  from  kindred  and  friends  who  had  come  to 
find  their  fortune  in  America,  and  their  ties  to  their  father- 
land being  one  by  one  cut  off,  as  father,  mother,  and 
sister  were  taken  to  a  heavenly  country,  then  it  was  that 
they  determined  to  seek  a  new  home  in  this  western 
world. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  123 

Immediately  upon  landing,  they  were  cordially  met 
by  a  near  relative,  and  received  into  a  neat,  comfortable 
abode,  which,  in  its  many  conveniences,  formed  such  a 
contrast  to  their  transatlantic  home,  that  they  looked 
about  them  with  wondering  and  admiring  eyes.  After 
they  retired  for  the  night  they  held  a  long  converse  upon 
the  probability  or  even  possibility  of  their  ever  being 
equally  well  situated.  When  they  arose  in  the  morning, 
refreshed  and  invigorated  for  new  duties,  hope  quickened 
each  step  and  lighted  each  eye. 

For  a  time  everything  went  on  smoothly.  James  Mc- 
Donald was  active  and  strong,  and  soon  entered  into  an 
engagement  with  a  farmer,  who  found  in  his  new  work- 
man a  trusty  and  faithful  hand.  Jane  remained  with 
her  cousin,  and  proved  herself  of  great  assistance  in  the 
business  by  which  the  worthy  Mrs.  Dane  increased  the 
wages  of  her  husband.  The  clothes  were  never  so  thor- 
oughly washed  nor  so  neatly  pressed  as  when  Jane 
"  was  to  the  fore."  Thus  they  continued  until  autumn, 
when  James  was  thrown  out  of  employment  for  the  win- 
ter ;  and  from  this  time  poor  Jane  aated  the  beginning 
of  her  troubles.  I  cannot  stop  to  relate  all  the  trials 
made  by  James  to  obtain  permanent  employment,  that 
he  might  have  a  settled  home,  which  he  could  call  his 
own ;  no,  nor  the  reserve  and  sourness,  which  gradually 
changed  his  once  bright  and  happy  countenance. 

My  story  is  more  of  little  Jamie  than  of  his  parents. 
But  I  will  just  say,  that  though  this  good  wife  did  not 
fail  to  sympathize  deeply  with  her  husband  in  every  fresh 
disappointment,  yet  she  always  endeavored  to  lead  him 
to  feel  that  they  were  in  the  hands  of  One  who  knew  all 


124  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND     MARRIAGES; 

their  wants,  and  who  would  guide  their  little  bark  at  last 
into  a  safe  port.  Though  James  McDonald  dearly  loved 
his  wife,  yet  on  one  point  they  widely  differed.  Jane 
had  been  blessed  with  a  pious  mother,  who  had  early 
taught  her,  not  only  to  fear  the  Lord,  but  to  trust  him  in 
all  her  ways.  The  good  old  lady  used  to  say,  "  It's  nae 
gude  to  trust  him  when  all's  fair  and  sky  clear,  and  then 
turn  to  aither  help  when  storms  betide ;  but  trust  liim 
alway,  and  mind  your  auld  mither's  words,  He'll  ne'er 
forsake  you." 

Jane  used  to  repeat  this  to  her  husband,  and  try  to  in- 
spire him  with  new  hope :  but  he  gradually  gave  up 
more  and  more,  until  almost  their  entire  support  depended 
upon  her  exertions.  This  was  so  gradual,  however,  that 
Jane  had  removed  to  the  little  cottage  where  we  found 
her,  and  which  was  given  to  her  for  a  merely  nominal 
rent,  and  her  sweet  Jamie  had  come,  a  rich  boon  to  the 
warm-hearted  mother,  before  the  father  wholly  despaired 
of  becoming  rich,  and  shipped  as  a  sailor  on  board  a 
merchant  vessel,  going  out  from  a  neighboring  port. 
The  young  wife  felt  very  sad  when  she  found  her  hus- 
band was  really  intending  to  leave  her  alone  in  a  strange 
land,  especially  as,  somewhat  affected  by  the  thought  of 
the  separation,  James  had  renewed  his  former  kindness 
and  affection  toward  her,  and  she  had  begun  to  look  for- 
ward to  brighter  days. 

He  went,  however ;  and  until  the  opening  of  our  story 
he  had  returned  but  twice.  Each  time  he  returned  com- 
pletely tired  of  a  seafaring  life,  and  determined  to  pursue 
it  no  farther.  But  each  time,  also,  after  remaining  at 
home  a  few  months,  he  grew  weary  of  the  monotony  of 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  125 

his  cottage  life,  for  he  sought  no  employment ;  declared 
that  even  the  life  of  a  sailor  "was  better  than  this,  and 
took  the  first  opportunity  to  leave. 

In  the  mean  time  Jamie  had  been  delighted  to  wel- 
come a  little  sister  to  their  sea-side  home.  Mrs.  McDon- 
ald was  well  known  and  esteemed  by  all  in  her  neighbor- 
hood, and  had  been  able,  during  the  watering  season, 
when  fashionable  visitors  from  the  city  resorted  to  the 
place,  to  obtain  a  good  support  by  taking  in  nice  wash- 
ing. Besides  the  regular  pay  for  her  work,  so  prompt 
and  faithful  was  she  to  her  employers,  that  they  became 
her  fast  friends,  and  for  many  of  the  comforts  her  cottage 
contained,  she  was  indebted  to  their  kind  benefactions. 
Her  neat  cottage,  with  its  bright  flowers  before  the  door, 
became  increasingly  a  favorite  resort  for  the  lovers  of  the 
sea,  and  generally,  on  a  pleasant  afternoon,  some  invalid 
who  had  resorted  to  the  salt  water  for  the  benefit  of 
health,  might  be  seen'  sitting  beneath  her  humble  roof, 
looking  out  upon  the  mighty  expanse  of  water,  and 
counting  the  white  sails  in  the  distance. 

In  this  way  summer  and  winter  had  passed.  Busied 
in  her  work  and  contented  in  the  society  and  affection 
of  her  children,  Mrs.  McDonald  had  long  since  ceased  to 
mourn  at  the  absence  of  her  husband,  though  she  never 
retired  to  rest  nor  commenced  the  duties  of  a  new  day 
without  kneeling  beside  her  little  ones,  imploring  God's 
blessing  upon  the  wanderer,  and  asking  her  heavenly 
Father  to  preserve  him  from  the  dangers  of  the  deep,  and 
above  all,  from  the  temptations  of  his  own  unrenewed 
heart.  This  daily  prayer  was  so  connected  in  the  mind 
of  little  Jamie  with  his  father,  that  he  often  called  Lottie, 
11* 


126  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  *, 

and  said,  "  Come,  sissy,  now  mama's  going  to  ask  God 
about  papa." 

Mr.  McDonald  had  already  been  absent  for  more  than 
two  years :  and  during  that  period,  his  wife  had  never 
heard  from  him.  He  had  not  previously  been  absent  so 
long  at  a  time ;  and  Jane  used  to  awake  during  a  storm, 
and  hear  the  thundering  of  the  billows,  and  fancy  that, 
above  the  roar  of  the  sea,  she  could  hear  her  own  James 
calling  for  help ;  and  then  she  would  draw  her  children 
close  to  her  breast,  and  pray  that  God  Almighty  would 
be  the  protector  of  her  absent  husband,  and  would  bring 
him  safely  to  his  home. 

One  day  when  Jamie  and  his  sister,  tired  of  play,  re- 
turned to  the  cottage,  they  were  surprised  to  see  a  man 
in  the  small  sitting-room,  holding  their  mother  upon  his 
knee.  Jamie  did  not  remember  his  father ;  and  Lottie 
had  not  seen  him  since  she  was  a  baby ;  so  the  children 
stood  in  the  doorway  unperceived,  yet  wondering  at  the 
sight  of  their  mother's  joy,  when  she  discovered  them  and 
said,  "  Jamie,  my  boy,  don't  you  remember  your  own 
father  ? "  Jamie  hung  down  his  head  and  walked  bash- 
fully forward  to  take  the  extended  hand,  while  his  mother, 
catching  up  Lottie,  exclaimed,  "  See,  James,  hasn't  the 
baby  grown  to  a  fine  size  ?"  The  father  expressed  great 
pleasure  at  the  growth  and  improvement  of  the  children. 

When  supper  was  prepared,  Jamie  gave  up  to  his 
father  the  seat,  at  the  head  of  the  table,  which  he  had 
occupied  ever  since  he  could  remember,  and  waited  for 
him  to  say  grace.  But  when  he  saw  his  father  help  him- 
self, and  about  to  commence  eating,  his  little  face  turned 
very  red,  and  he  looked  at  his  mother  in  great  distress. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  127 

"  Papa,"  said  he,  in  a  solemn  tone,  "  won't  you  ask 
God  to  please  bless  this  supper  ? " 

Mr.  McDonald  laughed,  and  said  to  his  wife,  "  What 
a  little  Methodist  you've  made  of  the  boy ! " 

"  Papa,"  continued  the  child  earnestly,  "  won't  you 
please  to  pray  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Mr.  McDonald,  "  who  prays  when  I'm 
gone?" 

« I  do." 

"  Well,  then,  pray  now,  only  be  very  quick  about  it ; 
I'm  desperate  hungry." 

In  a  serious  manner,  Jamie  folded  his  hands,  and  asked 
God  to  bless  the  food,  and  make  them  all  good,  and 
make  papa  good.  Afterwards  they  ate  their  simple  re- 
past. Many  a  month  had  passed  since  James  had  heard 
the  voice  of  prayer ;  and  he  seemed  impressed  by  the  se- 
riousness and  earnestness  of  the  child ;  and  as  Jane  made 
no  remark,  the  supper  was  rather  a  silent  meal. 

When  the  time  came  for  their  evening  prayer,  James 
had  wandered  from  the  house ;  and  Jane  took  her  little 
ones  into  the  inner  room,  and  there  knelt  with  them,  and 
thanked  God  for  preserving  her  husband,  and  bringing 
him  to  his  home  in  safety.  Then  she  poured  out  her 
whole  heart  in  prayer  for  his  soul,  that  he  might  become 
a  child  of  God  and  an  heir  of  immortal  glory.  Jamie 
looked  very  wistfully  at  his  mother  as  she  arose  and 
wiped  the  tears  from  her  eyes  with  her  apron.  But  she 
kissed  him  and  his  sister,  and  having  heard  their  prayers 
and  hymns,  laid  them  in  their  bed. 

Not  many  days  passed  before  the  inmates  of  the  cot- 
tage had  entirely  changed.  Mrs.  McDonald  was  not 


128  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

long  in  discovering  that  her  dear  husband,  for  whose 
return  she  had  so  earnestly  prayed,  had  become  a  drunk- 
ard ;  and  that  when  intoxicated  he  was  shockingly 
profane.  When  sober,  a  kind  of  respect  for  his  wife's 
feelings  had  hitherto  prevented  him  from  swearing  in 
her  presence.  But  poor  Jane  wept  bitter  tears  as  she 
thought  of  her  husband's  wickedness,  and  also  of  the 
dreadful  influence  he  would  have  upon  her  beloved  chil- 
dren. In  her  troubles  she  resorted  to  Rev.  Mr.  Gordon, 
her  pastor,  who  had  recently  been  settled  in  the  parish, 
and  received  gratefully  his  sympathy  and  counsel. 

At  first,  Jamie  appeared  completely  stunned  by  the 
volley  of  oaths  which  his  father  poured  out ;  but  recover- 
ing himself,  he  began  to  tell  him  it  was  very,  very  wicked 
to  talk  so,  and  that  God  wouldn't  let  him  live  if  he  did. 
James  was  beside  himself  with  rage ;  and  catching  up 
a  chair  threw  it  at  the  child,  telling  him  he'd  teach  him 
to  stop  his  impudence. 

But  the  frightened  mother  had  snatched  him  away ; 
and,  withdrawing  with  her  children  into  the  small  bed- 
room, she  wept  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  She  looked 
back  one  week,  and  thought  of  the  happy  peaceful  life 
she  then  led,  with  her  children  by  her  side,  and  her  dear 
Jamie  learning  so  fast  to  read,  that  she  was  looking 
forward  to  the  time  when  he  would  be  able  to  read  a 
chapter  in  the  large  Bible,  which  had  been  her  mother's, 
and  which  had  been  so  carefully  preserved.  But  Jane 
wept  still  more  bitterly  as  she  thought  of  that  blessed 
mother's  advice  to  her,  not  to  marry  a  man  who  did  not 
fear  God ;  and  she  felt  that  her  punishment,  though  long 
delayed,  had  now  come ;  for  though  she  had  not  married 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  129 

in  positive  disobedience  of  her  mother's  commands  ;  yet, 
she  knew  that  she  had  done  so,  contrary  to  her  often 
expressed  advice  and  warning.  The  very  wretchedness 
her  mother  feared,  had  now  fallen  to  her  lot.  Poor  Jane 
knelt  and  prayed  anew  for  wisdom  and  strength  to  bear 
the  affliction  which  her  own  wilfulness  had  brought 
upon  her.  Truly,  she  had  need  of  strength ;  for  now 
that  his  family  had  witnessed  his  degradation,  James 
seldom  came  home  sober ;  and  when  intoxicated,  his 
wife  and  children  soon  learned  that  their  only  safety  was 
in  flight.  Sometimes,  however,  they  could  not  escape 
him,  and  the  children  would  scream  with  fright  as  their 
father  cruelly  beat  their  dear  mother,  or  threw  her  heavily 
to  the  side  of  the  room. 

Once  Jamie  started  from  his  hiding  place  under  the 
table,  and  stood  directly  before  his  angry  father,  and  said 
"  Papa,  you  mustn't  beat  my  mamma  so,  I  can't  let  you, 
it's  very  wicked  ! " 

It  was  a  strange  sight  to  see  the  angry  man  with  a 
chair  or  stool  raised  over  his  head  to  strike,  and  then  ar- 
rested by  the  voice  of  his  child  pleading  for  his  mother. 
Sometimes,  the  plea  succeeded  ;  and  he  muttered 
angrily  to  himself,  and  slunk  away  to  bed.  But  at 
other  times,  he  seized  the  boy  by  his  arm  or  leg,  and 
threw  him  to  the  other  side  of  the  room.  At  such 
seasons  Mrs.  McDonald  suffered  far  more  on  account  of 
her  children  than  herself.  She  began  to  consider  what 
she  ought  to  do,  for  the  security  of  their  lives  and  per- 
sons. Some  of  the  neighbors,  hearing  of  the  trouble  of 
then*  esteemed  friend,  came  to  advise  her  to  complain  to 
the  public  authorities,  and  to  have  him  taken  up. 


130  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

But  it  so  happened  that  the  day  on  which  the  kind 
neighbor  visited  her,  James  had  returned  home  from  the 
village  sober.  He  had  obtained  a  job  of  work,  and  had 
brought  to  the  cottage  some  food  for  his  family.  Jane 
now  thought  her  prayers,  and  those  of  her  pastor,  were 
answered ;  and  her  heart  was  buoyed  up  with  hope  of 
brighter  days.  "  Oh  ! "  said  she,  "  It's  not  now  that  I 
could  have  the  heart  to  complain  of  him,  and  he  so  kind 
the  day."  She  related  to  her  sympathizing  neighbors 
the  unusual  kindness  of  her  husband.  For  a  day  or  two, 
until  the  job  was  finished,  James  continued  quite  sober ; 
but  then,  intending  to  make  up  for  lost  time,  he  came 
home  so  furious  that  Mrs.  McDonald,  catching  her  chil- 
dren in  her  arms,  fled  down  the  cliff  toward  the  sea,  and 
there,  hiding  with  them  behind  a  sheltering  rock,  she 
gave  way  to  the  most  passionate  grief. 

All  her  bright  hopes  were  again  dashed  to  the  ground. 
Unconscious  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  she  still  sat 
until  she  found  herself  in  a  great  chill.  She  instantly 
arose,  and  stealing  like  a  criminal  beneath  her  own  roof, 
she  found  her  husband  as  she  had  expected,  lying  un- 
conscious on  the  bed.  She  took  in  the  children,  and 
giving  them  their  supper,  she  heard  them  say  their 
prayers,  put  them  into  bed  and  laid  down  beside  them. 
Jamie  seemed  unusually  wakeful,  and  tried  to  comfort 
his  mother. 

"  Mamma,"  he  asked,  "  don't  I  grow  some  every 
day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear." 

«  Well,  soon  I  shall  be  a  man,  and  I  '11  take  you 
away  where  papa  can't  come,  and  then  we'll  be  happy 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  131 

again  just  as  we  were  before  he  came  home ;  only 
mamma,  I  wish  we  could  live  here.  It's  so  pleasant  to 
hear  the  loud  sea.  What  makes  papa  be  so  wicked  and 
beat  us  so  ?  " 

"  It's  rum,  Jamie ;  it's  rum  does  it  all.  Before  he 
drank  rum  he  was  very  kind  to  us." 

Jamie  crept  closer  to  his  mother,  and  said  in  a  husky 
voice,  "  Mamma,  you  won't  drink  any,  will  you  ?  What 
could  sissy  and  I  do  without  you  ?  " 

Poor  Jane  comforted  her  boy  with  the  promise  that 
she  would  never  taste  of  it ;  and  then  she  told  him  as 
she  often  had  done  before  of  that  bright  world  where 
there  is  no  drunkenness,  no  sorrow  nor  crying ;  but 
where  all  tears  will  be  wiped  from  every  eye.  Jamie 
asked  God  to  please  to  take  them  all  to  heaven.  Oh ! 
how  often  did  the  heart-broken  mother  think  of  that 
earnest  prayer. 

After  some  time  the  poor  weary  wife  lost  the  remem- 
brance of  her  sorrow  in  sleep.  But  not  long.  She  was 
suddenly  awakened  by  a  shrill  cough ;  and  she  started 
at  once  to  her  feet.  She  well  knew  the  sound,  and 
sprang  to  relieve  her  sick  child.  She  administered  to 
him  such  remedies  as  she  had  at  hand,  but  to  no  effect. 
She  then  tried  to  rouse  her  senseless  husband.  "  Jamie 
is  dying !  Jamie  is  dying  !  "  she  cried  in  his  ears.  But 
she  was  obliged  to  leave  him  repeatedly  to  go  to  her 
suffocating  boy,  when  he  would  instantly  fall  back  into 
unconsciousness. 

One  remedy  after  another  she  tried,  and  wrung  her 
hands  to  see  how  ineffectual  ft  was  for  his  relief.  At 
length,  rendered  desperate  by  despair,  she  succeeded  in 


132  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND  MARRIAGES', 

awakening  James,  and  she  implored  him  to  lose  no  time 
in  bringing  the  Doctor.  James  was  really  frightened  at 
the  distress  of  his  child,  and  willingly  started  off  on  his 
errand. 

When  the  Doctor  arrived,  the  poor  little  fellow  was 
somewhat  relieved ;  but  was  still  dangerously  ill.  The 
physician  remained  with  him  until  morning,  when  he 
left  his  patient  asleep. 

But  to  the  croup  succeeded  an  attack  of  lung  fever ; 
and  the  Doctor  was,  before  many  days,  obliged  to  ac- 
knowledge to  the  heart-broken  mother,  that  her  Jamie, 
her  first-born,  must  soon  leave  her.  The  sweet  boy  him- 
self was  aware  of  this,  and  calling  his  molher  to  the 
bed-side,  he  held  out  his  burning  hand  and  said :  "  Ma- 
ma, I'm  going  to  die ;  and  I'm  not  sorry  except  for  you. 
But  who  will  take  care  of  you  when  I  am  gone  ?  If 
papa  comes  home  angry,  who  will  tell  him  it's  wicked  ?  " 

Poor  Jane  could  answer  only  with  tears.  James  soon 
came  in,  and  the  little  finger  beckoned  him  to  a  seat  at 
the  bed-side. 

"  Papa,"  said  he,  in  a  feeble  voice,  "  you  know  I  am 
going  to  God ;  I  can't  stay  here  any  longer,  because  He 
calls  me  to  go ;  but  I  want  you  to  be  good  when  I'm 
gone,  so  that  mamma  will  have  somebody  to  take  care 
of  her." 

James  could  not  resist  the  pleading  of  his  dying  boy , 
he  began  to  weep,  drawing  his  coarse  sleeve  across  his 
eyes. 

Seeing  his  father  weep,  the  dear  child  continued: 
"  Dear  Papa,  won't  you  be  good,  and  not  beat  mamma 
any  more  ?  Every -body's  father  don't  beat  e  very-body's 
mother." 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  133 

James  cried  aloud. 

"  Don't,  Papa,"  said  Jamie,  "  please  don't  cry  so,  be- 
cause I  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  you."  But  the  poor 
child  began  to  cough  so  violently  that  he  could  say  no 
more  at  that  time.  Mrs.  McDonald  took  him  in  her 
arms  and  rocked  him  gently,  after  having  administered 
his  medicine.  He  soon  fell  asleep,  while  James  went 
out  before  the  door,  and  sitting  upon  the  step,  wept 
long  and  bitterly  because  he  was  about  to  lose  his  boy. 
Thoughts  of  other  days  came  crowding  into  his  mind, 
and  he  struck  his  head  with  his  hard  hand,  wishing  he 
had  never  left  his  fatherland.  Here  he  sat,  alternately 
weeping  and  thinking,  until  his  wife  called  him  to 
supper. 

After  tea,  he  took  a  seat  near  the  bed,  and  sat  looking 
with  great  tenderness  upon  his  suffering  boy.  He 
was  not  wholly  hardened  by  years  of  profaneness  and 
crime. 

Jamie  slowly  opened  his  eyes  to  see  his  father  gaze 
tearfully  upon  him. 

"  Dear  Papa,"  said  the  little  fellow,  "  I  would  not  have 
slept  if  I  had  known  you  were  here.  Will  you  please 
to  take  me  up ;  I  want  to  talk,  and  it  don't  hur|fme  so 
much  when  I  am  up." 

James,  with  unwonted  tenderness,  put  the  comforter 
around  the  sick  boy,  as  he  had  seen  his  mother  do,  and 
sat  down  with  the  child  in  his  arms.  Poor  Jamie 
missed  the  tender  arms  of  his  gentle  mother,  but  he  said 
nothing.  His  little  heart  was  bent  on  doing  his  father 
good,  and  bringing  happiness  back  to  the  home  he  was 
10  soon  to  leave. 

12 


134  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

"  Papa,"  said  he,  laying  his  head  back  on  his  father's 
arm  so  that  he  could  look  him  in  the  face,  "  Mamma 
says  you  were  kind  to  her,  and  loved  her  very  much, 
and  when  you  came  home  she  used  to  ran  out  to  meet 
you,  instead  of  hiding  away.  She  says  it  is  only  rum, 
naughty  wicked  rum,  that  makes  you  beat  us  all,  and  say 
such  awful  words.  Now,  papa,  I  am  going  away  from 
here,  and  you  won't  have  any  little  Jamie ;  and  Mamma 
wont  have  any  body  to  take  care  of  her.  Dear  Papa," 
continued  the  child,  putting  up  his  hand  to  brush  away 
the  tears  that  were  pouring  like  rain  down  his  father's 
cheeks,  "  won't  you  please  to  be  good  to  her  as  you  used 
to  be,  and  never  drink  any  more  rum  ?  Then  when  you 
die  you  can  go  to  heaven,  and  see  me  there,  and  I'll 
show  you  where  Jesus  is,  because  I  shall  be  there  a 
great  while  perhaps  before  you  go.  Will  you,  dear 
Papa  ?  "  The  last  word  could  hardly  be  distinguished. 
The  pale  sufferer  lay  with  closed  eyes  and  throbbing 
breast,  entirely  exhausted. 

He  looked  so  much  like  death  that  James  in  affright 
called  out,  "  Jane,  come  quick !  Jamie 's  going ! " 

His  mother  was  instantly  at  his  side.  Indeed,  she  had 
not  htpn  far  away.  She  had  fallen  into  a  seat  back  of 
the  rocking  chair ;  and  there  she  sat,  eagerly  listening  to 
every  word,  her  swelling  heart  echoing  a  fervent  amen 
for  every  wish  of  her  darling  child,  while  she  tried  to 
smother  her  sobs  in  her  apron. 

Without  removing  him  from  his  father's  arms,  Jane 
held  camphor  to  the  nostrils  of  her  dying  boy ;  and, 
when  he  slowly  opened  his  eyes,  wet  his  parched  lips 
with  drink  which  the  Doctor  had  left  him. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  135 

In  his  earnest  desires  for  his  father,  the  boy  had  ex- 
hausted his  remaining  strength,  and  lay  panting  for 
breath.  Just  at  this  time  the  physician  entered;  and 
taking  his  sweet  little  patient  from  his  father,  whose 
strong  frame  was  so  agitated  and  shaken  with  the  vio- 
lence of  his  feelings,  as  to  prevent  his  proper  care  of  the 
dear  boy,  laid  him  gently  in  the  bed,  propping  him  up 
with  pillows. 

Mr.  McDonald  rose  to  leave  the  room ;  but  Jamie  cried 
feebly,  "  Papa,"  and  putting  out  his  hand  motioned  for 
his  father  to  sit  by  his  side.  Though  not  able  to  speak, 
he  looked  at  him  with  the  utmost  tenderness  as  the 
bowed  head  of  his  father  was  buried  in  the  pillows,  while 
his  broad  breast  heaved  and  fell  with  the  violence  of  his 
emotions. 

After  taking  some  medicine  from  the  Doctor,  he  was 
relieved ;  and  again  turning  to  his  father,  said,  "  Did  you 
say  you  would,  papa  ?" 

The  Doctor  looked  inquiringly.  He  saw  that  a  scene 
of  uncommon  interest  had  taken  place ;  and  he  deter- 
mined to  await  the  result. 

Poor  James !  The  fountain  of  his  feelings  was  bro- 
ken up.  The  hard  shell  which  drunkenness,  and  jpofan- 
ity,  and  other  crimes  had  formed  around  his  soul  was 
fractured,  and  an  arrow  from  the  divine  quiver  had  pene- 
trated it,  though  directed  by  the  feeble  hand  of  his  infant 
child.  As  the  words,  "  Did  you  say  you  would,  papa," 
fell  on  his  ear,  a  new  purpose  was  formed  within  him. 

He  arose  from  his  seat ;  with  a  great  effort  he  stifled 
his  sobs,  and  falling  on  his  knees,  said,  "  Jamie,  my  own 
dear  boy,  I  will  promise.  May  God  help  me  to  keep  the 


136  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES. 

fr 

vow  I  now  make  to  my  dying  child,  that  I  never,  never 
more  will  taste  of  rum ! " 

A  fervent  amen  burst  involuntarily  from  the  Doctor, 
while  Jane  fell  upon  her  knees  to  thank  God  for  the  un- 
expected answer  to  her  prayers. 

A  heavenly  smile  played  on  the  sweet  countenance  of 
the  sufferer,  while  he  calmly  folded  his  little  hands  on  his 
breast  as  if  in  prayer.  His  work  was  done.  He  was 
now  ready  to  be  offered.  A  gasp,  a  sigh,  drew  them  all 
quickly  around  the  bed.  The  dying  eyes  passed  lovingly 
from  father  to  mother  who  stood  holding  his  beloved  sis- 
ter in  her  arms,  and  then  resting  for  a  moment  upon  his 
kind  physician,  they  were  slowly  closed,  never  to  be 
opened  until  the  morning  of  the  resurrection. 

James  McDonald  arose  from  the  bed-side  of  his  Jamie 
a  new  man,  with  hopes  and  resolutions  filling  his  soul,  to 
which  he  had  hitherto  been  a  stranger.  It  was  the  bles- 
sed privilege  of  the  good  pastor  to  lead  this  wanderer 
back  to  the  fold,  and  to  commend  him  to  the  care  of  the 
great  and  good  Shepherd.  The  mourning  mother  had 
indeed  lost  her  son,  but  had  gained  her  husband. 

In  a  quiet  little  knoll,  but  a  hundred  yards  above  high 
water  park,  lies  the  body  of  the  little  subject  of  this  sim- 
ple sketch,  where  the  rolling  waves  which  he  so  much 
loved,  are  ever  swelling  a  requiem  to  the  memory  of  the 
departed. 


CHAPTEE    XI. 

THE  THREE  WEDDINGS. 

THE  day  has  been  very  warm  for  the  season,  and  my 
husband  called  me  to  the  window  to  show  me  that  the 
buds  have  begun  to  swell.  I  presume,  however,  as  it  is 
only  the  middle  of  March,  that  we  shall  have  more  cold 
weather.  Mr.  Gordon  is  quite  anxious  to  get  to  work 
upon  the  garden,  and  amuses  me  by  the  eagerness  with 
which  he  seeks  advice  of  his  agricultural  parishioners. 

This  afternoon  I  accompanied  him  to  Rand  farm,  as  it 
is  called,  which  is  more  than  two  miles  distant.  This  is 
the  residence  of  the  aged  man  whom  my  husband  went 
to  visit  in  the  winter,  and  who  was  suffering  from  paral- 
ysis. He  is  considerably  better  than  at  that  time,  but 
entirely  helpless.  The  family  consists  of  Mr.  Rand  and 
his  wife,  with  their  daughter  who  is  married,  and  two 
children.  Mr.  Choate,  the  son-in-law,  I  did  not  see ;  but 
from  the  account  of  my  husband  who  has  met  him  sev- 
eral times,  as  well  as  from  the  words  of  the  old  gentle- 
man, who  wished  to  talk  of  him  to  the  exclusion  of  every 
other  topic,  I  am  quite  impressed  in  his  favor. 

I  am  more  and  more  pleased  with  Nora.  She  is  very 
conscientious  with  regard  to  the  Sabbath,  and  extremely 
affectionate  in  her  disposition.  She  is  never  more  pleased 
than  when  I  allow  her  to  comb  my  hair,  or  to  bathe  my 
temples,  when  I  am  afflicted  with  the  headache,  which 

12*  (137) 


138  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND     MARRIAGES; 

has  been  .the  case  more  frequently  since  the  warm 
weather  came  on. 

A  fortnight  since  we  had  a  wedding  at  our  house, 
which  is  the  second  Mr.  Gordon  has  attended.  The 
bride  and  groom  appeared  very  youthful.  Indeed,  the 
young  man  seemed  little  more  than  a  boy.  Upon  read- 
ing his  certificate,  however,  my  husband  found  that  he 
was  of  age ;  and  she,  nineteen.  I  called  Nora  into  the 
room,  both  because  I  thought  it  would  please  her  to  be 
present,  and  because  we  wanted  her  for  a  witness.  When 
the  simple  ceremony  was  nearly  concluded,  and  the  words 
"  I  pronounce  you  man  and  wife,"  had  been  repeated, 
the  new  husband  clasped  his  wife  in  his  arms  and  im- 
printed the  first  kiss  upon  her  lips.  Poor  Nora  sprang 
forward  in  alarm,  supposing  the  bride  about  to  faint, 
which  was  the  reason  of  his  putting  his  arms  about  her. 
She  was  very  much  confused  when  I  put  my  hand  on 
her  arm ;  and  she  saw  by  my  smile  that  she  had  made  a 
mistake. 

"  Indeed,  ma'am,"  she  apologized,  after  they  left, 
"and  I  thought  the  lady  would  fall,  but  I  saw  she 
looked  the  one  way  all  the  time,"  meaning  that  she  did 
not  grow  pale.  "  And  is  that  the  fashion  in  this  country  ?  " 
she  asked  me  the  next  morning.  "  I  never  saw  the 
like  of  it  before." 

After  the  wedding  party  had  left,  I  told  Mr.  Gordon 
an  anecdote  which  I  had  heard  my  father  relate.  A 
friend  of  his  was  called  to  a  small  house  in  the  suburbs 
of  a  city,  to  marry  a  black  couple.  It  was  the  custom  of 
the  place  for  the  clergyman  to  approach  the  bride,  when 
the  ceremony  was  concluded,  and,  after  wishing  her  joy 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  139 

in  her  new  relation,  to  give  her  a  fatherly  kiss.  The 
gentleman  in  question  in  due  time  pronounced  the  twain 
one,  and  after  the  benediction  called  upon  the  ebony 
groom  to  salute  his  bride.  But  with  great  respect  for 
the  office  and  privilege  of  a  clergyman,  the  modest  man 
could  not  think  of  aspiring  to  the  first  kiss,  and  humbly 
replied,  "  after  you,  mass'r." 

I  have  always  been  curious  to  know  how  the  good 
man  extricated  himself  from  this  dilemma,  without 
wounding  the  feelings  of  the  bride.  But  true  Christian 
courtesy  is  seldom  at  a  loss  for  expedients. 

I  have  to-day  returned  from  a  visit  of  a  fortnight  at 
my  old  home.  Though  reluctant  to  part  with  me,  Mr. 
Gordon  urged  my  going,  as  he  thought  the  change  would 
be  beneficial,  and  as  I  wished  the  advice  of  my  mother 
about  many  things.  Thomas  was  at  home  most  of  the 
time,  as  it  is  his  vacation.  Eleanor  also  passed  three  days 
with  me,  and  assisted  me  with  my  sewing.  Every  one 
in  the  family  endeavored  to  make  my  visit  agreeable. 
Mr.  Gordon  came  over  every  day  or  two,  and  reported 
the  news  from  home.  He  carried  me  one  day  to  see 
Dame  Streeter,  who  is  very  near  her  end.  But  she  is 
not  only  calm  in  the  prospect  of  death,  but  looks  forward 
with  a  glorious  hope  to  her  inheritance  beyond  the  skies. 
She  welcomed  me  most  cordially,  and  at  parting,  after 
Mr.  Gordon  had  prayed  with  her,  she  committed  me 
most  tenderly  to  his  care. 

I  was  much  pleased  to  observe  the  improvement  in 
Bessie.  She  has  grown  really  pretty,  and  has  much 
decision  of  character  for  a  girl  of  her  age.  Nora  says 


140  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

a  great  many  have  called  upon  me  in  my  absence,  and 
expressed  a  wish  to  be  of  service.  On  inquiring  what 
she  had  for  dinner,  she  appeared  tery  mysterious,  and 
said  she  could  pick  up  something ;  but  upon  going  to 
the  table  I  found  a  nice  leg  of  lamb,  which  our  kind 
neighbor,  Mrs.  Hall,  sent  in,  with  asparagus  and  spin- 
nage.  Nora  had  cooked  it  nicely,  and  I  made  an  excel- 
lent meal.  Mr.  Gordon  said  it  really  did  him  good  to 
see  me  opposite  him  again,  and  able  to  eat  heartily.  He 
says  the  house  has  been  as  still  as  a  tomb ;  that  Nora, 
fearful  of  disturbing  him,  has  moved  about  as  noiselessly 
as  a  ghost ;  but  the  silence  was  so  unusual  that  he  could 
not  write ;  and  missing  my  voice  and  step  about  the 
house,  he  took  the  opportunity  to  exchange  both  Sab- 
baths while  I  was  away.  I  am  equally  delighted  to  be 
once  more  at  home. 

This  morning  I  received  a  call  from  Mrs.  Jason,  the 
wife  of  our  lawyer,  who  is  one  of  our  nearest  neighbors 
on  the  hill  opposite.  In  the  course  of  the  conversation 
I  told  her  I  was  much  pleased  with  the  people  as  I  be- 
came acquainted  with  them.  She  asked  if  I  had  ever 
seen  Mr.  Choate,  son-in-law  of  Mr.  Rand.  I  replied  that 
I  had  not,  though  I  had  been  twice  to  the  house. 

«  He  is  in  very  humble  life,"  she  added,  «  and  with 
but  few  opportunities  of  self-improvement,  yet  I  have 
a  greater  respect  for  that  young  man,  than  for  almost 
any  other  in  town."  She  was  so  enthusiastic  in  his 
"praise,  which  accorded  exactly  with  what  my  husband 
had  said  of  him,  that  I  begged  her  to  give  me  his  history, 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  141 

which  so  much  interested  me  that  I  have  determined  to 
write  it. 

He  is  the  only  son  of  Mr.  Choate,  a  farmer  who  lives 
about  half  a  mile  beyond  Mr.  Rand.  His  sister  is  a  • 
prominent  singer  in  our  choir,  and  is  soon  to  be  married/ 
to  the  gentleman  who  has  for  four  successive  winters 
taught  our  public  school.  For  many  years  James  Choate 
and  Elizabeth  Rand  were  attached  to  each  other ;  but 
after  the  death  of  her  only  sister  Mary,  Mrs.  Rand  fell 
into  a  melancholy  state,  and  could  not  readily  be  induced 
to  part  with  her  only  remaining  daughter. 

One  evening,  early  in  the  month  of  August,  James 
presented  himself  at  Rand  farm  to  accompany  Elizabeth 
to  an  evening  lecture  at  the  village.  Before  he  went  he 
resolved  to  make  one  more  effort  to  induce  the  parents 
of  his  friend  to  consent  to  their  marriage.  This  determi- 
nation he  made  known  to  her,  and  in  consequence  she 
undertook  to  lay  the  subject  before  her  parents.  Just  as 
they  were  leaving  the  house  she  turned  back  from  the 
door,  and  approaching  her  mother,  with  slight  embarrass- 
ment, whispered,  "  please  talk  with  father  this  evening, 
about  what  I  asked  you,  and  coax  him  to  consent,  and 
let  me  tell  James  when  we  return,  it  will  make  him  so 
happy." 

The  rather  sad  expression  upon  her  mother's  face  gave 
way  to  a  smile,  as  she  looked  at  the  blushing  girl,  and 
glanced  from  her  to  a  young  man  near,  who,  conscious 
that  something  had  been  said  which  would  greatly  affect 
his  "  weal  or  woe,"  stood  tracing,  with  the  toe  of  his 
wide  boot,  the  bright  color  which  was  ingeniously 
braided  into  the  hearth  rug. 


142  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

In  another  minute  the  door  was  shut,  and  the  aged 
couple  were  alone.  For  a  short  time  they  sat  in  silence, 
the  face  of  the  mother  again  wore  the  pensive  expression 
which  had  become  almost  habitual,  and  her  husband, 
not  feeling  particularly  cheerful  himself,  did  not  like  to 
interrupt  her  meditations.  At  length,  however,  he  said, 
«  come,  wife,  don't  look  so  sad ;  if  Mary  could  speak  to 
us,  she'd  tell  us  she  was  far  better  off  than  when  she  was 
in  this  wicked  world,  for  she  is  in  the  presence  of  her 
Saviour,  and  beholds  his  glory.  It  won't  be  long,  eithefy 
before  you  and  I  shall  follow  her.  We've  got  most 
through,  wife,  and  we  ought  to  be  thankful  that  we  have 
the  promise  of  a  mansion  above.  We  shall  see  all 
our  little  ones  when  we  reach  that  better  land." 

Tears  flowed  fast  down  the  furrowed  cheeks  of  Mrs* 
Rand,  as  her  husband  thus  spoke ;  but  they  soothed  her 
excited  feelings,  and  she  replied,  "  Yes,  husband,  we've 
almost  lived  out  our  allotted  time,  and  I  look  forward 
with  trust  in  my  Saviour,  to  the  end  of  my  journey ;  but 
our  dear  Mary  was  not  the  subject  of  my  thoughts  when 
you  spoke.  I  was  thinking  of  Elizabeth." 

"  Of  Elizabeth !  why  then  look  so  sorrowful  ?  The 
very  thought  of  her  makes  my  old  heart  glad.  Why, 
when  I'm  out  in  the  field  mowing  or  ploughing,  if  my 
bones  ache,  or  I'm  very  weary,  I  just  sit  down  on  the 
stump  of  a  tree,  and  think  of  our  Elizabeth ;  and  the 
vision  of  her  bright,  happy  face,  her  merry  laugh,  and, 
more  than  aU,  of  her  love  for  her  poor  old  father  and 
mother,  rests  me  a  sight ;  it's  better  than  meat  and  drink 
to  me." 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  143 

"  What  shall  you  do,  then,  when  she's  gone  ?  "  asked 
the  mother  mournfully. 

"  Well,"  answered  the  father,  swallowing  a  sob  which 
struggled  up  from  his  full  heart,  "we  must  make  the 
best  of  it.  James  is  a  right  clever  fellow,  and  he  loves 
our  girl.  Now  that  he's  calculated  upon  having  her  for 
so  many  years,  I  couldn't  make  up  my  mind  to  tell  him 
he  must  give  her  up." 

"  But,  husband,  wouldn't  it  be  better  for  them  to  wait 
a  little  longer  ?  What  can  we  do  without  her  ?  " 

"  Do  you  remember  what  neighbor  Gray's  wife  told 
your  mother  the  evening  we  had  that  famous  quilting  in 
the  old  red  house  ?  "  l  It's  the  way  of  the  world,'  says 
she, '  and  Scripter  sanctions  it.  A  man  shall  leave  father 
and  mother  and  cleave  to  his  wife,  and  if  it's  right  for 
him,  it's  right  for  her.'  When  I  get  clear  down,  about 
Elizabeth's  leaving  us,  I  think  o'  that,  and  remember 
that  we  shouldn't  a  thought  'twas  right  for  any  body  to 
have  kept  putting  us  off  from  year  to  year.  But,  wife, 
I've  been  thinking  this  ere  subject  over  and  over  nights, 
for  more'n  a  fortnight,  and  I've  about  come  to  the  con- 
clusion to  set  off  half  my  farm  and  give  James  a  clean 
deed  of  it,  providing  he'll  agree  to  fix  up  them  north 
rooms  and  live  here." 

"  Oh,  husband ! "  almost  screamed  Mrs.  Rand,  her 
face  radiant  with  joy. 

"  Yes,"  continued  the  good  old  man,  "we  are  growing 
old  and  shall  soon  need  somebody  to  take  care  of  us,  and 
I've  pretty  nigh  made  up  my  mind  to  do  it." 

An  hour  after,  when  Elizabeth  returned  from  singing- 
school,  and  James  loitered  near  the  door,  while  she  ra» 


144  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

in  to  ascertain  if  there  were  any  good  news  for  him, 
Mr.  Rand  called  out  from  the  bed-room,  "  Elizabeth,  tell 
James,  as  soon  as  he 's  milked  in  the  morning,  to  take 
a  walk  over  here,  'cause  I  want  to  see  him  on  business ; 
and  tell  him  not  to  be  frightened,  'cause  it's  nothing 
alarmin'." 

I  cannot  stop  to  tell  of  the  whispering  at  the  door, 
nor  how  the  young  man's  heart  beat,  as  he  walked 
'home,  cheered  by  the  words  of  her  he  loved :  "  I  know 
'twas  something  pleasant,  by  the  way  father  spoke." 
Nor  will  I  relate  his  thoughts  during  that  long,  sleepless 
night.  Suffice  it  to  say,  Brindle,  and  her  associates, 
were  treated  the  next  morning  to  a  very  early  breakfast, 
and,  after  being  milked,  were  sent  forth  to  enjoy  the 
beauties  of  a  glorious  sunrise,  —  so  that  the  young  man 
reached  Rand  Farm  about  half  an  hour  before  the  owner 
had  left  his  bed.  But  Elizabeth  considered  this  a  most 
fortunate  occurrence,  for,  by  means  of  his  assistance,  she 
too  soon  finished  her  morning  labors,  and  returned  to 
the  house  in  season  to  hear  what  her  father  had  to 
say. 

The  young  people  were  overjoyed  at  the  plan,  and 
after  consultation  with  the  father  and  mother  of  James, 
the  carpenter  and  mason  were  called  in  to  make  some 
slight  alterations  in  the  part  of  the  house  which  was 
to  be  given  up  to  them.  The  north  parlor  was  to  be 
newly  painted  and  papered;  and  a  door  cut  from  the 
entry  into  a  large  cheese-room,  which  was  now  to  be 
converted  into  a  kitchen ;  and  such  other  improvements 
made  as  the  young  people  might  suggest.  All  this  was 
in  the  month  of  August,  and  the  wedding  was  appointed 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  145 

for  Thanksgiving-day.  In  answer  to  James's  look  of 
dismay,  when  she  mentioned  so  distant  a  time,  Elizabeth 
blushingly  replied  that  she  could  n't  get  ready  a  mo- 
ment sooner;  and  one  who  had  witnessed  the  bustle 
that  commenced  at  the  quiet  farm-house,  would  have 
supposed  that  three  months,  at  least,  would  have  been 
requisite  to  restore  order. 

When  the  carpenters  were  fairly  at  work,  and  Eliza- 
beth had  fully  expressed  her  wishes  to  them,  she  started 
for  the  city,  to  be  absent  three  days,  for  the  purchase  of 
articles,  too  numerous  to  mention.  She  went  directly  to 
the  house  of  her  aunt,  and  carried  on  her  purchases 
under  her  direction.  James  was  awaiting  her  at  the 
tavern,  at  the  time  appointed  for  her  return,  with  her 
father's  covered  wagon,  to  take  her  home,  a  distance  of 
nearly  two  miles.  He  was  rather  shy  of  her  at  first,  for 
her  three  days  in  the  city,  on  such  important  business  as 
the  spending  of  fifty  dollars,  had  given  her  an  air  of  con- 
fidence and  smartness,  which  quite  awed  him.  But  as 
soon  as  they  were  out  of  sight  of  the  crowd  around  the 
stage-coach,  he  said :  "  There,  Elizabeth,  these  three  days 
were  the  longest  that  I  ever  see.  Nothing  goes  well 
when  you  're  away.  It  did  n't  seem  right,  somehow,  to 
have  the  sun  shining,  and  the  birds  singing,  when  I  was 
so  dull  without  you." 

Oh,  Elizabeth,  how  could  you  answer  so  coolly  when 
the  thought  that  you  were  so  dear  to  the  large,  warm, 
honest  heart,  beating  by  your  side,  quickened  every 
pulse  in  your  body,  and  sent  the  tell-tale  blood  to  your 
cheeks ! 

"  You'll  soon  be  used  to  it,"  she  answered,  with  as- 
13 


146  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

sumed  indifference,  "  for  I  must  go  again,  and  aunt  says 
'twill  take  me  all  of  a  week  to  get  my  things,  for  I 
haven't  bought  a  dollar's  worth  of  my  furniture,  and  aunt 
has  given  me  a  silk  dress  on  condition  I'll  come  there  and 
have  it  made  up  in  Boston  style." 

James  sighed,  as  he  wondered  what  the  city  aunt 
would  think  of  so  awkward,  ungainly  a  fellow  as  he 
thought  himself  to  be. 

Wqpks  and  months  flew  by,  amid  the  hurry  of  prepar- 
ation for  so  great  an  event  as  the  marriage  and  settle- 
ment of  then-  only  child.  Mr.  Rand  had  been  to  Squire 
Jason  on  the  hill,  and  the  legal  instruments  were  all  pre- 
pared, conveying  to  James  Choate  the  farm  bounded 
thus  and  so,  together  with  half  the  farm-house  thereupon. 
The  neat  parlor  with  its  gay  carpet,  a  present  also  from 
the  city  aunt,  and  its  row  of  nice  cane-seated  chairs  ;  the 
closets  with  the  shining  dishes,  the  clothes-press  where 
the  new  silk  hung  side  by  side  with  a  very  suspicious 
looking  garment,  in  the  form  of  a  coat,  all  were  in  readi- 
ness for  their  new  master  and  mistress.  James  came  and 
went,  smiling  and  coloring  up  to  his  ears,  but  somehow 
not  feeling  so  much  at  home  in  the  new  parlor,  as  in  the 
spacious  kitchen  where  the  familiar  settle  held  out  its 
arms  as  to  an  old  Mend.  He  was  impatient  for  the  time 
when  he  could  have  Elizabeth  all  to  himself,  for  now 
there  was  so  much  to  be  done,  and  so  many  neighbors  at 
the  farm  helping  to  quilt,  or  to  knot  one  more  comforter, 
that  for  a  fortnight  he  had  hardly  found  time  to  tell  her 
how  grateful  he  was  to  his  Father  in  heaven  who  had 
given  him  so  dear  a  friend,  and  the  prospect  of  so  pleas- 
ant a  home ;  or  how  humble  and  ashamed  he  often  felt, 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  147 

that  he  was  no  more  worthy  of  her,  knowing  as  he  did, 
that  both  Seth  Hazen  at  the  great  store  by  the  tavern 
and  the  winter  schoolmaster  had  been  refused  her  hand. 
On  the  evening  in  question,  he  had  come  to  make  some 
final  arrangements  for  the  wedding,  for  it  now  wanted 
but  one  week  to  Thanksgiving. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  Elizabeth,  "  you  must  call 
and  invite  parson  Green,  or  he  may  engage  to  go  out  of 
town."  $ 

Poor  James !  the  bare  idea  of  asking  the  minister  to 
come  and  marry  him,  made  the  perspiration  start  from 
every  pore  in  his  body.  Ever  since  the  wedding-day  had 
been  appointed,  the  poor  bashful  youth  had  trembled  as 
he  thought  of  the  dread  ceremonies  through  which  he 
was  to  pass  before  he  could  claim  Elizabeth  as  his  own ; 
but  the  idea  had  never  occurred  to  him,  that  he  must  in- 
vite the  parson. 

Little  suspecting  the  cause  of  the  silence  of  her  lover, 
Elizabeth  went  on  to  mention  a  variety  of  matters  which 
came  under  her  own  department,  such  as  making  a  loaf 
of  bride-cake,  putting  up  curtains,  etc. 

"  And  I,"  said  James,  "  have  a  couple  of  loads  of  wood 
to  haul,  and  a  new  hen  coop  to  make ;  but — Elizabeth," 
he  added,  in  a  distressed  voice,  "  couldn't  I  get  somebody 
to  do  the  job  with  parson  Green  ?  I'd  rather  plough  the 
toughest  piece  I  ever  see." 

"Why?"  said  she,  laughing  merrily,  "I  hope  you're 
not  ashamed  of  me." 

Dread  of  the  formidable  business  of  the  evening,  en- 
tirely took  away  the  appetite  of  the  young  man  through 
the  next  day ;  but  with  the  courage  of  a  martyr,  at  sun- 


148  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES', 

down  he  donned  his  Sunday  suit  and  proceeded  to  the 
parsonage.  "It  will  take  but  a  minute,"  he  thought, 
"  and  then  I  can  go  down  to  the  farm,  easy  in  mind." 

The  clergyman  was  in  his  study,  where  his  young  son 
ushered  the  visitor,  and  left  him  to  his  fate.  At  the  end 
of  an  hour,  the  good  man  began  to  manifest  a  little  curi- 
osity to  know  the  business  which  had  brought  his  young 
parishioner  to  make  him  so  long  a  call.  The  whole 
subjdfcof  crops  and  weather  had  been  thoroughly  dis- 
cussed. Then  the  new  singing  school  was  brought  for- 
ward, and  James  agreed  with  his  pastor  that  the  appoint- 
ment of  Seth  Hazen  for  a  chorister  was  judicious.  At 
length  the  devoted  clergyman  feared  his  friend  had  met 
with  some  discouragements  in  his  spiritual  progress,  and 
now  he  imagined,  "  I  am  right,"  for  James,  who  had  been 
growing  more  and  more  reserved,  entered  with  interest 
into  conversation  of  a  religious  nature.  But  when  after 
receiving  gratefully  much  kind  advice,  he  made  no  mo- 
tion to  depart,  but  only  seemed  the  more  embarrassed, 
Mr.  Green  was  at  a  greater  loss  than  before. 

In  the  mean  time  poor  James  sai  twirling  Ids  hat, 
which  he  refused  to  lay  down  on  his  entrance,  upon  th£ 
plea  of  being  "  in  something  of  a  hurry."  He  grew  very 
red  in  the  face,  sometimes  making  up  his  mind  to  go 
home  and  write  to  the  parson,  and  then  thinking 
"  'twould  take  me  all  of  a  week  to  prepare  such  an  epis- 
tle," sometimes  calling  himself  a  fool  to  be  so  afraid,  and 
then  wishing  he  were  a  thousand  miles  off,  until  in  his 
desperation  he  started  up  from  his  chair,  saying,  "  I  guess 
I  must  go,  I  didn't  calculate  on  staying  so  long ;  but  I 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  149 

was  afraid  you  might  be  out  of  town,  and  I've  brought 
you  an  invitation  for  Thanksgiving  evening." 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Mr.  Green,  quietly. 

"  And  Elizabeth  told  me  to  invite  your  wife  and  all 
the  family,"  added  the  young  man,  while  the  blood  seemed  • 
actually  ready  to  start  out  of  his  face. 

Mr.  Green  now  began  to  have  an  inkling  of  the  truth. 
"  Ah ! "  said  he,  "  there's  to  be  a  wedding,  is  there  ?  I 
suppose  then  I'm  to  go  to  Mr.  Rand's.  I  und^fctood 
you,  it  was  your  mother  who  was  to  have  the  com- 
pany." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  answered  James,  "  and  they  calculate 
on  seeing  you  all  there." 

Thanksgiving  day  dawned  clear  and  bright.  The 
ground  was  covered  with  a  light  fall  of  snow,  which 
upon  the  foundation  of  well  frozen  earth,  promised  fine 
sleighing.  Mr.  James  Choate  arose  early,  and  after  an 
introduction  of  his  successor  to  the  office  he  had  filled  in 
his  father's  stable  and  farm  yard,  gathered  together  and 
packed  into  his  chest  what  few  articles  belonging  to  him 
remained  about  the  house,  a  new  trunk  well  filled  with 
shirts,  flannels  and-  stockings  from  his  mother,  together 
with  four  new  linen  bosoms  stitched  and  ironed  by  the 
skilful  hands  of  his  sister  Kate,  had  been  already  con- 
veyed to  his  new  abode,  and  were  laid  neatly  in  the 
chest  of  drawers  appropriated  to  their  use.  Then  the 
young  man  waited  rather  impatiently  for  breakfast  to  be 
placed  upon  the  table. 

"  Come,  James,"  said  his  mother,  "  this  is  your  last 
meal  at  home.  I  hope  you  don't  begrudge  us  the  time 
to  make  it  ready." 

13* 


150  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

"  No,  mother,"  he  replied,  springing  to  her  side,  «  here, 
let  me  pare  these  potatoes  for  you ;  I  reckon  you'll  miss 
me  some,  and  if  ever  you  or  father  need  a  helping  hand, 
I  shall  be  ready.  You  know  'tisn't  my  way  to  say 
much ;  but  I  an't  the  boy  to  forget  ah1  you've  done  for 
me."  After  a  moment  he  added,  "  Elizabeth  told  me 
last  night  that  her  father  said,  'twas  everything  for  her  to 
marry  into  such  a  steady  family.  He  said  he'd  rather 
haveafer  connected  with  the  son  of  godly  parents,  who 
had  brought  up  their  child  to  fear  the  Lord,  than  to  have 
a  king  for  a  son-in-law." 

Mrs.  Choate  turned  hastily  away,  to  wipe  a  tear  from 
her  eye  with  the  corner  of  her  apron,  and  answered, 
"  there,  did  he  say  that  ?  'Twas  kind  of  him  anyhow. 
Well,  I  hope,  my  boy,  you'll  be  a  good  son  to  them,  and 
a  kind  husband  to  Elizabeth.  It's  a  great  thing  for  you 
to  get  such  a  wife,  and  have  such  a  setting  out.  There 
an't  a  young  man  in  town  but  would  be  glad  to  stand  in 
your  place  to-night." 

"I  know  it,  mother,"  and  the  young  bridegroom's 
breast  heaved  from  the  intensity  of  his  emotions.  After 
laying  down  the  knife  and  wiping  the  perspiration  from 
his  forehead,  he  added,  «  If  God  gives  me  strength  and 
grace  to  do  it,  I  mean  to  show  her,  and  her  parents  too, 
that  I'm  not  ungrateful." 

Having  breakfasted  and  joined  with  the  family  in  their 
morning  devotions,  during  which  the  dear  son,  about  to 
leave  the  parental  roof,  was  earnestly  commended  to  the 
care  of  a  covenant  keeping  God,  James  harnessed  the 
horse  into  the  sleigh,  and  having  kissed  his  mother  and 
sister,  and  again  reminded  them  to  "  come  early,  very 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  151 

early,"  (for  Kate  was  to  be  bridemaid,)  he  carried  his 
chest  to  the  door,  and  with  the  help  of  the  young  man 
who  was  to  accompany  him  and  drive  back  the  horse, 
lifted  it  in  and  drove  away  to  his  new  home. 

In  the  newly  furnished  north  room,  the  wedding  guests 
were  all  assembled.  There  stood  Mr.  Choate  the  groom, 
and  his  really  pretty  bride,  decked  in  the  Boston  silk 
with  its  new  fashioned  boddice  and  straight  sleeves.  By 
their  side  was  Katy,  and  the  school-master,  who  ^found 
much  more  favor  in  her  eyes,  than  in  those  of  her  new 
sister.  Opposite  them  stood  their  beloved  pastor,  whom 
old  and  young  regarded  with  great  respect,  while  the 
sides  of  the  room  were  lined  with  chairs  brought  from 
every  part  of  the  house,  and  occupied  by  relatives  and 
friends. 

This  hour  has  been  contemplated  with  dread  by  the 
bashful  James;  but  in  the  all-engrossing  interest  and 
solemnity  of  the  occasion,  he  has  forgotten  everything 
save  that  he  is  now  about  to  ratify  in  public,  the  vows 
he  has  heretofore  made,  to  love  and  cherish  through  all 
the  checkered  scenes  of  this  mortal  life,  the  dear  one 
standing  by  his  side.  Unnoticing,  or  wholly  indifferent 
to  the  earnest  gaze  from  the  many  eyes  fixed  upon  him, 
the  young  man,  with  a  countenance  expressive  of  high 
and  noble  resolves,  dedicates  himself  renewedly,  first  to 
his  Maker,  and  then  to  the  promotion  of  her  welfare  and 
happiness,  who  has  so  lovingly  given  him  the  best  affec- 
tions of  her  young  heart.  As  the  reverend  pastor  pro- 
nounced them,  "  man  and  wife,"  the  idea  that  he  was 
henceforth  to  be  her  protector  as  well  as  friend,  caused 
the  tears  to  start  to  his  eyes,  and  a  gush  of  tenderness  to 


152  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES. 

thrill  his  whole  being,  as  with  a  respectful  pressure  of 
her  hand,  which  she  was  about  to  withdraw  from  his,  he 
placed  it  on  his  arm.  The  benediction  was  pronounced, 
and  the  aged  father  and  mother  of  Elizabeth  came  up 
to  salute  and  bless  her  who  alone,  of  all  their  dear  ones, 
has  been  left  to  them. 

Then  followed  the  parents  of  the  groom.  "  You  did 
well,  my  boy,"  whispered  his  mother,  with  an  approving 
nod,  "and  made  your  old  mother's  heart  glad/' 

After  the  young  people  had  followed  the  example  of 
their  elders,  and  sundry  smiles  and  jokes  had  passed 
between  them,  the  door  leading  to  the  spacious  kitchen 
was  thrown  open  and  a  long  table  was  discovered,  load- 
ed with  the  most  tempting  viands,  in  the  midst  of  which 
was  a  large,  beautifully  frosted  and  decorated  bride- 
cake. 

Of  these  good  things,  both  young  and  old  appeared 
nothing  loath  to  partake ;  and,  with  the  assistance  of  the 
young  men,  the  chairs  were  brought  from  the  parlor,  and 
all  were  soon  seated  at  the  table. 

Poor  James  !  Now  he  became  fully  alive  to  the 
awkwardness  of  his  situation.  Seated,  with  his  bride, 
in  a  conspicuous  place,  near  the  head  of  the  table,  and 
being  made  the  incessant  subject  of  jokes  and  remarks, 
during  the  discussion  of  the  ample  repast,  —  he  became 
more  and  more  confused,  was  constantly  obliged  to 
resort  to  his  handkerchief  to  wipe  the  perspiration, 
which  stood  in  drops  upon  his  forehead,  and  heartily 
wished  his  friends  would  take  some  more  private 
opportunity  to  express  their  congratulations  and  kind 
wishes. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE   GOOD  HUSBAND. 

Two  years  have  passed  since  the  scenes  related  in  the 
foregoing  chapter.  It  is  now  August.  The  afternoon  is 
intensely  hot,  while  scarcely  a  breath  of  air  is  stirring. 
Mrs.  Rand  is  seated  in  her  neat  kitchen,  and  presents 
the  very  picture  of  rural  comfort.  Let  us  enter,  and 
renew  our  acquaintance  with  her.  The  sun,  which  is  so 
cheerful  a  visitor  to  the  aged  people  during  the  early 
part  of  the  day,  has  gone  on  in  his  daily  march,  and  now 
shines  upon  the  opposite  side  of  the  house  ;  —  the  blinds 
are  closed,  the  yellow  painted  floor  swept  so  carefully 
that  not  one  speck  of  dust  can  be  seen  ;  the  chimney  is 
concealed  by  a  huge  pitcher  filled  with  asparagus  and 
flox ;  the  small  stand,  on  which  for  years  has  laid  the 
sacred  law  of  the  household,  is  in  its  place  in  the  corner, 
and  near  it,  seated  in  a  low  rocking-chair,  whose  musical 
creaking  has  soothed  many  a  babe  to  sleep,  sits  the  good 
old  lady  whom  we  have  come  to  visit.  Her  neatly 
frilled  cap,  with  its  broad  band  of  black  ribbon,  her 
short,  white,  loose  gown  over  a  black  skirt  show  that,  in 
her  dress,  she  studies  comfort  rather  than  fashion.  With 
her  foot  upon  the  rocker  of  a  cradle,  and  her  steel-bowed 
glasses  upon  the  end  of  her  *nose,  the  aged  dame  alter- 
nately reads  a  few  lines  from  her  favorite  paper  or 
imitates  the  example  of  Master  Jimmy,  in  the  cradle, 

(153) 


154  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

and  the  large  tabby,  lying  asleep  on  the  rug   at  her 
side. 

In  the  meantime,  the  young  mother  has  taken  an  um- 
brella to  shield  her  from  the  scorching  rays  of  the  sun, 
and  gone  out  into  the  orchard,  behind  the  house,  to 
gather  a  bowl  of  blackberries  for  tea.  At  the  end  of  the 
orchard  is  a  meadow,  and  there  her  husband  and  father 
are  at  work  pitching  into  the  wagon  their  last  load  of 
hay. 

Having  filled  her  bowl,  Elizabeth  turned,  for  a  mo- 
ment, toward  the  green  meadow,  to  ascertain  how  soon 
they  would  finish,  when  she  was  surprised  to  see  the 
hired  boy,  who  was  raking  after  the  cart,  leave  his  work 
and  come  running  toward  the  house.  She  was  too  far 
off  to  distinguish  objects  distinctly,  but  supposing  that  he 
had  been  sent  by  her  husband  for  a  fresh  supply  of  sweet- 
ened water,  she  walked  slowly  toward  him.  As  soon  as 
he  saw  her,  he  made  signs  for  her  to  approach  quickly, 
and  called  out,  when  near  enough  for  her  to  hear,  "  Oh, 
Miss  Choate,  your  father's  in  a  fit,  and  your  husband 
and  Mr.  Sanders  are  bringing  him  home." 

Elizabeth  grew  very  pale,  and  had  a  faint  feeling  at 
her  heart,  but  the  necessity  for  immediate  action  con- 
quered this,  and  only  stopping  for  one  earnest  glance 
toward  the  figures  of  two  men  who  were  bearing  the 
insensible  body  toward  her,  she  darted  forward  to  the 
house.  Mrs.  Rand  had  sunk  into  a  profound  sleep,  but 
Elizabeth  quickly  roused  her,  saying,  "  Mother,  father  is 
not  well,  and  James  is  assisting  him  home." 

So  suddenly  awakened,  the  poor  old  lady  started  up  as 
if  she  supposed  herself  under  the  influence  of  some  fright- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  155 

ful  dream,  while  her  daughter  fled  to  the  bedroom,  and 
saw  that  everything  was  prepared  for  him  to  be  placed 
upon  the  bed.  She  then  begged  her  mother  to  be  calm, 
and  ran  out  to  meet  her  husband. 

The  countenance  of  the  good  patriarch  indeed  resem- 
bled death,  as  his  dutiful  son  bore  him  gently  across 
the  neat  kitchen  and  placed  him  upon  his  lowly 
couch.  As  he  lay  wholly  insensible,  Mrs.  Rand  threw 
herself  upon  the  bed  beside  him,  with  passionate  excla- 
mations of  grief,  and  necessity  alone  prevented  her 
daughter  from  following  her  example,  —  the  noise  having 
awaked  the  baby,  and  the  young  mother  being  obliged 
to  restrain  her  manifestations  of  sorrow,  and  attend  to 
his  wants ;  so  that  upon  James  devolved  the  duty,  first 
of  sending  the  boy  on  horseback  for  the  Doctor,  and 
then  of  doing  all  that  could  be  done  for  the  poor  sufferer. 
With  the  tenderness  of  a  woman  he  bathed  the  cold, 
damp  brow,  untied  his  neckerchief,  and  chafed  his 
hands,  and  ever  and  anon  bent  down  his  ear  to  listen 
to  his  feeble  breathing. 

Fortunately  the  messenger  met  the  physician,  and 
sooner  than  they  had  any  reason  to  expect,  he  entered 
the  room.  Mrs.  Rand  arose  from  her  humble  posture  at 
his  entrance,  and  with  tears  unconsciously  flowing  down 
her  cheeks,  caught  his  hand,  led  him  to  the  bed,  and 
whispered,  "  Oh,  Doctor,  do  save  him.  I  can't  be  left 
alone." 

Doctor  Bond  soon  ascertained  that  his  patient  was 
suffering  from  an  attack  of  paralysis,  and  resorted  to  the 
most  rigorous  treatment,  which  soon  resulted  in  his 
being  restored  to  partial  consciousness.  In  the  course 


156  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

of  a  few  hours  he  recognized  each  one  of  the  anxious 
faces  bent  so  lovingly  over  him,  and  smiled,  but  could 
not  speak. 

The  following  day  he  evidently  considered  himself 
dying,  and  it  was  really  affecting  to  witness  his  efforts  to 
articulate  some  parting  words.  At  length  they  under- 
stood that  he  wished  to  hear  a  few  verses  from  his  favor- 
ite psalm,  and  James  read  aloud,  beginning,  "  The  Lord 
is  my  shepherd,  I  shall  not  want."  The  good  old  man 
listening  as  if  his  very  soul  were  drinking  in  the  consol- 
ing truths. 

During  the  second  night  he  lay  in  such  a  deep  stupor, 
breathing  very  heavily,  that  the  physician  was  hastily 
summoned,  as  his  friends  feared  he  was  dying.  But  by 
the  application  of  powerful  draughts  to  his  feet,  and  a 
blister  to  the  back  of  his  neck,  he  again  revived,  and  was 
able  to  take  a  few  teaspoonfuls  of  nourishment. 

The  next  day,  as  his  afflicted  wife  and  children  were 
by  his  side,  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  looking  with  the  ut- 
most tenderness  upon  her,  who  for  forty-two  years  ha<? 
shared  with  him  life's  joys  and  sorrows,  he  feebly  mur- 
mured, in  broken  accents,  "  I'm — going — home.  Jesus — 
will  bring  you  safely  there.  Don't  mourn  for  me,"  he 
added  later,  "  My  Saviour  will  be  with  me  through  the 
dark  valley.  I'm  full  of  peace  and  joy  here,"  laying  his 
right  hand  upon  his  breast. 

At  night,  finding  himself  alone  for  one  moment  with 
his  dutiful  son-in-law,  he  said,  "  James,  you  have  been 
a  good  son  to  me.  I  leave  her  to  your  care.  Be  gentle 
with  her,  for  she  will  be  lonely,  and  so  will  Elizabeth 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  157 

too.  She's  a  good  girl,  and  I've  often  thanked  God  for 
giving  her  so  kind  a  husband." 

Poor  James !  Through  the  long  days  and  nights  since 
his  good  father-in-law  fell  fainting  over  his  rake  in  the 
field,  he  had  scarcely  left  his  side.  It  was  he  who  so 
gently  raised  him  in  his  bed,  smoothed  his  pillows,  ad- 
ministered his  medicine,  and  fed  him  with  what  simple 
drink  he  was  able  to  swallow.  Above  all,  it  was  James 
who,  while  his  own  heart  was  swelling  with  grief,  spoke 
words  of  comfort  to  the  invalid,  pointing  him  to  the  bles- 
sed land  he  appeared  about  to  enter.  It  was  James,  also, 
who  soothed  the  hopeless  sorrow  of  the  aged  wife,  and 
by  cheerful  tones,  sought  to  allay  the  almost  frantic  grief 
of  the  weeping  daughter.  He  seemed  all  at  once  en- 
dowed with  qualities  they  never  knew  he  possessed,  so 
calm,  so  self-relying,  so  gentle  and  efficient  had  he  be- 
come in  the  performance  of  the  new  duties  which  had 
devolved  upon  him. 

But  in  that  midnight  hour,  when  he  bent  over  the  aged 
man  who  had  been  to  him  so  loving  a  father,  and  re- 
ceived what  he  supposed  might  be  his  last  charge  and  his 
last  benediction,  he  was  wholly  overcome.  He  covered 
his  face  with  his  hands,  while  his  whole  frame  shook 
with  emotion.  He  realized  what  a  friend  was  about  to 
be  taken  from  them,  and  at  the  same  time  he  resolved  by 
the  grace  of  God  to  fulfil  the  solemn  trust  reposed  in 
him :  to  be  a  dutiful  son,  and  an  affectionate  husband  to 
the  afflicted  wife  and  daughter. 

Mrs.  Rand,  as  we  have  seen  at  the  commencement  of 

our   story,  was   rather   of  a  melancholy   temperament. 

Having  been  deprived  by  death  of  one  after  another  of 

14 


158  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

her  children,  until  only  Elizabeth  remained,  she  was  apt 
to  indulge  in  feelings  of  gloom  and  despondence  from 
which  it  required  all  her  husband's  native  cheerfulness  to 
arouse  her.  Her  daughter  inherited  this  tendency,  and 
during  her  fathers  sickness,  even  after  the  physician  be- 
gan to  express  a  hope  that  he  might  partially  recover, 
could  never  be  induced  to  share  her  husband's  hopeful 
trust,  that  ah1  things  would  be  ordered  for  their  good. 

I  have  to-day  received  a  call  from  Mrs.  Wells  and 
Henry.  He  is  just  on  the  point  of  embarking  for  Europe 
on  a  tour,  which  he  postponed  since  last  summer,  because 
he  intends  to  remain  in  Germany  for  several  years.  I 
was  at  first  painfully  embarrassed  at  the  meeting,  espe- 
cially as  my  husband  was  from  home ;  but  Mrs.  Wells, 
by  conversing  upon  indifferent  topics,  soon  put  me  at 
ease.  But  even  now  my  heart  aches  as  I  think  of  poor 
Henry.  He  is  extremely  thin,  and  scarcely  smiled  during 
the  call.  I  cannot  but  think  he  regretted  the  interview, 
though  when  he  went  out,  he  said  it  would  be  a  satisfac- 
tion to  him  to  have  seen  me  once  more.  After  His 
mother  got  into  the  carriage,  he  returned  to  the  door 
where  I  stood,  and  taking  my  hand,  led  me  back  a  step 
into  the  entry.  "  Susan,"  he  said,  in  a  broken  voice,  and 
apparently  with  great  effort,  "  I  trust  you  will  not  be  dis- 
pleased at  my  coming  to  bid  you  farewell.  Something 
tells  me  that  I  shall  never  return,  that  this  will  be  our  last 
meeting,  and ." 

"  Oh,  Henry!"  I  exclaimed,  interrupting  him,  "  Don't 
give  way  to  such  despondency.  I  hope  to  see  you  many, 
many  times,  and  before  long  I  hope  to  hear  that  you  are 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  159 

happily  settled.  "  I  tried  to  speak  cheerfully ;  but  my 
voice  failed  me,  and  my  eyes  were  filled  with  tears. 

He  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  then  asked  suddenly, 
"  are  you  happy,  Susan  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  softly,  "  I  am  very  happy,  except  when 
I  remember  that  I  have  caused  you  pain,"  and  I  could  not 
keep  back  my  tears. 

"  Bless  you  for  those  tears,"  he  said,  quickly,  "  but  in- 
deed I  must  go ;  I  am  only  giving  you  pain.  If  you 
could  realize  how  I  shall  live  upon  these  last  words ;  how 
I  shall  treasure  up  every  kind  expression  of  interest,  you 
would  give  me  at  least  the  poor  consolation  of  bidding 
you  farewell." 

"  Henry,"  I  said,  as  I  held  out  my  hand,  "  you  are  dear 
as  an  own  brother  to  me.  I  never,  never  shall  forget  you, 
nor  cease  to  wish  for  your  happiness,  and,"  I  added,  in  a 
lower  voice,  "  every  night  I  pray  that  you  may  become  a 
follower  of  Jesus."  With  a  sudden  thought,  I  stepped 
back  to  the  parlor,  and  took  from  the  table  a  small  Bible 
with  clasps,  the  same  my  father  gave  me  on  my  birth-day. 
This  I  put  into  his  hand  as  I  said,  "  Dear  Henry,  will  you 
read  this  daily  for  my  sake  ? " 

"  I  will,"  he  answered,  firmly,  then  with  a  warm  pres- 
sure of  my  hand,  he  darted  from  the  house.  I  watched 
the  chaise  until  it  turned  into  another  street,  and  then 
hastened  to  my  chamber.  When  my  husband  returned 
an  hour  later,  I  had  cried  myself  almost  into  hysterics. 
He  was  really  alarmed,  and  proposed  going  at  once  for 
the  physician ;  but  I  declined,  and  by  the  aid  of  his  qui- 
eting voice,  and  soothing  attentions,  I  was  soon  able  to 
control  myself,  and  to  give  him  an  account  of  what  had 


160  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

passed.  I  loved  him  better  than  ever,  when  I  found  how 
truly  he  sympathized  with  me  in  my  sorrow  for  Henry, 
and  how  earnestly  he  approved  all  that  I  had  said  and 
done.  But  as  I  became  composed,  I  noticed  that  he 
grew  more  serious,  until  at  tea  he  scarcely  spoke.  Di- 
rectly after  prayers  he  asked  me  to  go  with  him  to  the 
study,  where  he  placed  me  by  his  side,  and  with  the  ut- 
most tenderness,  said,  "  Susan,  do  you  remember  the 
night  when  you  came  home  from  Squire  Wells's  after 
Henry's  return  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  wondering  what  was  to  follow. 
"  You  then  said  you  had  always  loved  Henry  as  a  friend ; 
but  you  were  not  sure  whether  you  loved  him  as  a  suitor, 
and  that  if  he  were  a  Christian,  you  probably  should 
marry  him." 

"  I  remember." 

"  Is  there  no  feeling  in  your  heart,  my  own  wife,  of 
sorrow  or  regret  at  the  answer  you  gave  him  the  next 
day?" 

I  will  not  say  what  I  replied,  but  judging  from  his 
brightening  face,  and  his  earnest  thanks,  I  presume  he 
was  satisfied. 

Yesterday  was  the  fourth  of  July.  I  was  just  hesitat- 
ing on  account  of  the  heat,  whether  to  accept  an  invita- 
tion from  my  husband,  to  go  home  for  a  few  hours,  when 
a  chaise  stopped  at  the  gate,  and  Thomas  with  Eleanor 
made  their  appearance.  They  stayed  to  tea  and  rode 
home  by  moonlight,  but  their  errand  was  to  bring  me  a 
beautiful  silky  spaniel,  which  belonged  to  Henry.  It 
was  given  to  him  when  it  was  a  puppy,  four  years  ago, 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  161 

and  has  been  his  constant  companion  ever  since.  He 
taught  the  little  creature  to  eat  from  my  hand,  and  to 
obey  my  call,  and  as  I  caressed  her  she  soon  followed  me 
almost  as  readily  as  her  master.  Eleanor  told  me  her 
brother  sailed  last  week,  and  that  he  sent  Moselle  home 
by  a  friend  who  saw  him  on  board  the  vessel. 

"  Read  her  the  message  in  the  letter,"  exclaimed 
Thomas,  and  after  Mr.  Gordon  had  repeated  the  wish, 
she  took  the  letter  from  her  pocket  and  read  the  post- 
script. "  Will  you  deliver  Moselle  to  Susan,  with  the 
following  message  :  '  To  the  dearest  friend  of  my  child- 
hood and  youth,  I  commit  my  faithful  companion,  with 
the  hope  that  she  may  sometimes  call  to  mind  the  wan- 
derer from  country  and  home.' " 

I  begged  Eleanor  to  leave  the  whole  letter  which  con- 
tained his  plans,  for  me  to  peruse,  and  she  did  so. 

This  afternoon  I  accompanied  my  husband  to  Rand 
farm,  to  pay  my  last  respects  to  the  dead.  The  aged  suf- 
ferer was  attacked  on  Monday  with  another  shock  of 
paralysis,  and  died  the  next  morning,  without  reviving 
from  the  stupor.  Mr.  Gordon  called  the  same  evening, 
and  found  the  family  in  great  affliction.  Mrs.  Rand  \vas 
wholly  overcome,  and  her  daughter,  Mrs.  Choate,  seemed 
incapable  of  soothing  her.  Upon  her  husband  there  came 
all  the  care,  both  of  his  own  family  and  the  preparations 
for  the  funeral ;  and  Mr.  Gordon  says  he  nobly  discharged 
these  duties.  At  the  funeral  I  had  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  something  of  the  manner  in  which  he  relieves  his 
wife  from  care.  The  eldest  child  is,  I  should  think,  about 
two  years  old.  He  sat  during  the  exercises  very  quietly 
in  his  father's  lap,  until  Mr.  pordon  arose  for  prayer, 
14* 


162  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ' 

when  a  loud  cry  from  the  kitchen  called  the  weeping 
father  from  the  room,  taking  the  child  with  him.  The 
baby  had  awaked  from  its  nap,  and  was  afraid  of  the 
kind  neighbor  who  had  offered  to  take  care  of  it.  I 
heard  the  father's  voice,  from  my  seat  near  the  door,  and 
his  tones  of  affection,  as  he  walked  softly  across  the  floor, 
soon  produced  quiet.  Before  the  prayer  was  concluded 
he  had  again  laid  the  child  to  sleep  in  the  cradle,  and 
softly  opened  the  door  to  listen  to  the  devotions.  All 
this  would  have  been  perfectly  natural  with  a  mother, 
but  in  the  case  of  this  young  farmer,  I  confess  it  really 
affected  me.  I  stepped  forward,  as  the  mourners  were 
called  to  take  their  last  look  at  their  dead,  and  took  my  seat 
by  the  cradle,  motioning  him  to  go  to  his  wife.  With  a 
very  expressive  "  thank  you,"  he  left  me,  and  giving  his 
arm  to  his  weeping  mother,  led  her  to  the  entry  where 
the  coffin  was  placed  upon  a  table.  He  then  returned 
and  accompanied  his  wife,  after  which  the  names  were 
called  out  for  the  relatives  to  proceed  to  the  grave.  Mr. 
Choate  returned  to  the  kitchen  for  his  hat,  and  to  see  if 
the  neighbor  would  remain.  "  I  will  take  care  of  the 
baby,"  I  said,  as  he  glanced  anxiously  around  the  room. 
"  I  will  remain  until  you  return."  Mr.  Gordon  came  to 
find  me ;  but  I  begged  him  to  accompany  Mrs.  Rand, 
and  give  her  his  arm  for  support.  When  all  were  gone 
except  the  boy  who  works  upon  the  farm,  I  laid  aside  my 
bonnet  and  shawl,  and  made  preparation  for  the  awak- 
ing of  the  little  miss.  But  by  constant  rocking  she  slept 
until  a  few  minutes  before  their  return,  and  then  she 
awoke  so  good  natured  that  it  was  easy  to  cultivate  her 
acquaintance.  When  my  husband  entered  with  the 


OR,  THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  163 

widowed  mourner,  I  was  holding  the  young  lady  before 
the  small  mirror,  and  introducing  her  to  her  own  image, 
with  which  she  was  so  much  pleased  that  she  cooed  with 
delight.  Mr.  Choate  came  forward,  and  the  child  sprang 
almost  out  of  my  arms  in  her  joy  at  seeing  him.  After 
a  few  words  of  sympathy  to  Mrs.  Rand  and  her  daugh- 
ter, we  took  our  leave. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

THE  TWINS,  FAITHFUL  MOSELLE,  AND  THE  WELCOME  LETTER. 

THIS  morning  I  happened  to  go  to  my  desk,  and  there 
saw  my  long-neglected  journal,  and  the  perusal  of  its 
pages  has  carried  me  back  so  vividly  to  old  times,  and 
given  me  so  much  pleasure  that  I  have  determined  to 
continue  it  as  opportunity  may  occur.  It  was  in  July, 
I  think,  that  I  last  wrote,  and  now  it  is  January.  How 
much  has  occurred  during  these  few  months  which  have 
intervened !  In  September  my  dear  husband  was  at- 
tacked with  a  return  of  pleurisy  in  his  side.  His  suf- 
ferings were  dreadful;  I  could  hardly  endure  the 
sight ;  and  yet  nothing  could  induce  me  to  leave  him. 
No,  not  even  his  own  request,  for  he  was  very  unwilling 
to  have  me  with  him ;  and  in  the  midst  of  his  agony 
would  try  to  repress  his  groans  lest  they  might  add  to 
my  distress.  How  quickly  he  assured  me  he  was  re- 
lieved, the  moment  the  pain  began  to  abate!  How 
anxious  he  was,  lest  in  my  desire  to  administer  to 
him  I  should  injure  myself!  But  I  was  graciously  sup- 
ported through  it,  and  found  abundant  reason  for  grati- 
tude in  the  abounding  kindness  of  our  people.  Mrs. 
Hall  was  truly  a  mother  to  me,  both  at  that  time,  and 
also  when,  a  month  later,  my  hour  of  maternity  drew 
near.  On  the  sixth  day  of  October  a  precious  gift  from 
heaven  was  sent  us.  Two  sweet  cherubs  came  to  en- 

'164) 

' 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  165 

liven  our  home.  Oh,  may  it  be  our  constant  endeavor 
to  prepare  them  to  return  to  their  home  in  the  skies !  In 
his  tenderness  and  love  toward  our  little  ones,  I  find 
fresh  reason  to  be  thankful  for  such  a  companion.  His 
whole  character  is  softened  and  subdued  by  it,  and  his 
soul  seems  to  go  out  in  prayer  to  God,  that  their  lives 
may  be  spared,  and  that  they  may  be  fitted  for  usefulness 
here,  and  happiness  hereafter.  I  remember  well  the  first 
time  I  was  able  to  ride  out,  and  reluctantly  left  my  babes 
for  an  hour.  We  approached  a  house  where  a  woman  was 
holding  an  infant  in  the  doorway.  Mr.  Gordon  rode  up 
and  asked  how  old  it  was,  and  when  he  found  it  was 
near  the  age  of  our  twin  babes,  he  requested  leave  to  take 
it  and  pass  it  to  me.  With  what  delight  we  viewed  the 
little  hands  and  feet,  and  compared  them  with  the  tiny 
rounded  limbs  we  left  at  home !  The  young  woman, 
who  was  an  aunt  of  the  child,  was  evidently  much  grati- 
fied at  the  attention,  a  feeling  I  can  well  understand,  for 
it  would  be  very  easy  to  win  my  love  through  fondness 
to  my  babes.  In  addition  to  Nora,  I  have  now  a  young 
girl  of  nineteen,  who  so  far  proves  to  be  a  excellent  cook. 
Nora  is  advanced  to  the  situation  of  nurse,  and  faithfully 
do  she  and  Moselle  fulfil  the  trust  reposed  in  them.  My 
husband  and  I  have  often  bee/i  amused  at  the  steadiness 
and  sobriety  of  demeanor  manifested  by  Moselle,  since 
she  has  taken  the  crib  in  charge.  Before  this  she  was 
very  frolicsome,  after  she  found  she  was  among  friends, 
and  would  run  jumping  upon  us,  if  we  were  going  out, 
begging  to  accompany  us ;  and  whenever  she  heard  my 
husband's  voice,  would  start  from  sleep,  and  run  joyfully 
to  meet  him.  But  now,  though  she  often  springs  from  the 


166  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

mat,  raises  her  silky  ears,  and  listens  intently,  yet  she 
immediately  turns  back  to  the  crib,  as  if  she  would  say, 
"  I  should  be  glad  to  welcome  you,  but  I  have  more  im- 
portant duties  to  discharge."  While  I  am  nursing  and 
tending  my  sweet  little  treasures,  Moselle  and  I  often 
have  very  long  talks  about  her  former  master.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  convince  me  that  she  does  not  understand 
what  I  say.  At  the  name  Henry,  or  Wells,  she  is  all 
attention,  and  at  first  used  to  look  wistfully  at  the  door 
as  if  she  would  try  to  find  him  ;  but  now  she  comes  to 
stand  by  my  side,  and  when  I  say,  "  poor  Moselle,  Henry 
all  gone,"  she  gazes  mournfully  into  my  face ;  but  if  I 
change  my  tone  and  repeat,  "  Henry  will  come  back 
some  time,"  she  commences  the  most  violent  demonstra- 
tions of  joy.  About  a  month  since  Mrs.  Wells,  with 
George,  drove  over  to  see  me.  Moselle  was  almost  be- 
side herself  with  delight,  and  kept  running  back  and 
forth,  as  if  expecting  Henry.  Mrs.  Wells  was  really 
affected  when  I  talked  to  the  little  creature,  and  George 
urged  me  to  give  the  dog  to  him,  when  Mr.  Gordon, 
seeing  my  unwillingness  to  part  with  her,  playfully  an- 
swered for  me,  that  she  had  become  so  important  a  part 
of  our  family  we  could  not  think  of  parting  with  her ; 
and  he  called  her  caressingly  to  him,  as  he  added,  "  even 
if  for  the  sake  of  the  giver  we  did  not  value  her  so 
highly."  When  they  left,  however,  George  tried  many 
experiments  to  coax  Moselle  away  with  him,  and  the 
poor  creature  seemed  almost  distracted  with  conflicting 
emotions ;  with  a  desire  to  go  in  the  hope  of  finding  Henry, 
and  a  wish  to  stay  with  the  babes.  At  last,  however, 
a  sense  of  duty  prevailed,  and  with  a  most  demure  look  • 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  167 

of  regret,  she  returned  firmly  to  the  nursery,  and  lay 
down  by  my  side.  I  placed  the  small  velvety  hand  on 
her  head,  and  called  her  "  my  good  Moselle,  my  faithful 
Moselle!" 

We  have  to-day  had  quite  a  pleasant  excursion  to  the 
shore,  with  a  party  of  friends.  I  carried  bathing  clothes 
for  the  little  girls,  and  took  them  with  us  into  the  water. 
As  they  have  been  daily  in  the  habit  of  taking  a  cold 
bath,  they  were  not  much  frightened,  but  caught  their 
breath  when  their  father  plunged  them  one  by  one  into 
the  surf.  After  wandering  for  some  time  on  the  pearly 
beach,  and  picking  up  shells  and  bright  stones,  we  joined 
the  rest  of  our  party,  who  were  seated  behind  a  great 
rock,  and  nearly  ready  for  the  discussion  of  the  chowder 
which  they  had  prepared. 

On  my  return  I  was  surprised  to  see  Nora  standing  at 
the  gate  watching  for  us.  She  followed  me  up  into  the 
nursery  and  put  a  letter  into  my  hand.  Before  I  proceed 
to  tell  what  it  contained,  I  must  relate  what  had  occurred 
a  few  months  previous.  Upon  going  to  the  nursery  one 
day,  after  having  been  out  making  calls  upon  our  peo- 
ple, I  found  Nora  in  tears.  For  some  time  she  sobbed 
so  violently  that  I  could  obtain  no  satisfactory  account 
of  the  cause  of  her  grief;  but  at  length  she  took  a  letter 
from  her  pocket  and  gave  it  to  me  to  read.  The  letter 
was  from  a  relative  "  at  home,"  as  she  always  calls  her 
native  Erin,  and  contained  the  intelligence  of  the  death 
of  her  only  brother.  The  poor  girl  was  very  much 
affected,  but  at  length  was  composed  enough  to  tell  me 
about  the  family  he  had  left,  which  consisted  of  a  wife 


168  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

and  three  children.  The  good  girl,  with  that  warm 
hearted  generosity  which  so  distinguishes  the  inhabi- 
tants of  that  green  sunny  isle,  immediately  began  to  lay 
plans  whereby  she  could  contribute  to  their  support.  A 
new  bonnet  neatly  trimmed  with  delicate  purple  ribbon, 
which  hung  in  the  window  of  the  milliner's  shop,  had  long 
been  the  object  of  her  especial  desire,  and  on  the  week 
preceding  the  reception  of  the  letter,  she  had  inquired  the 
price  and  partly  engaged  it.  This  bonnet  she  at  once 
concluded  to  relinquish  and  send  the  amount,  it  would 
have  cost,  to  her  deceased  brother's  wife,  adding  with  an 
affecting  tone  as  I  began  gently  to  expostulate,  "  Indeed 
ma'am,  and  I  couldn't  have  the  heart  to  be  wearing  that 
pretty  hat,  and  my  only  brother  lying  in  the  cold  grave." 

I  advised  her  to  wait  until  I  could  'write  to  her  sister- 
in-law,  asking  for  particulars  of  her  brother's  death,  and 
a  statement  of  their  circumstances.  This  I  did  without 
delay,  and  the  answer  she  had  just  received.  As  the  let- 
ter was  directed  to  my  care,  and  she  could  by  the  utmost 
attention,  barely  spell  it  out,  she  had  preferred  to  wait 
for  me  to  read  it  to  her. 

Helen  was  climbing  into  my  lap,  I  took  her  upon  my 
knee,  and  broke  open  the  seal,  when  my  eye  fell  upon 
the  name  at  the  bottom  of  the  page. 

From  your  affectionate  brother, 

"JOHN  ROBERTS." 

"With  my  heart  beating  quickly  in  sympathy  with  the 
joy  which  was  in  store  for  her,  I  asked  as  calmly  as  I 
could,  «  What  was  your  brother's  name,  Nora?" 

"  John,  ma'am,  John  Roberts." 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  169 

I  pointed  to  the  name  at  the  close  of  the  letter. 

She  gazed  earnestly  at  it  for  a  moment,  before  she 
could  comprehend  the  joyful  fact,  then  burst  into  tears, 
as  she  exclaimed,  « my  brother  is  alive !  Oh,  I  thank 
God!"  Her  face  grew  pale  with  the  intensity  of  her 
emotions,  and  her  lip  quivered  as  I  read  the  affectionate 
epistle  from  her  brother,  in  answer  to  the  one  I  wrote. 
It  was  the  death  of  his  son  by  the  same  name,  which  had 
caused  the  mistake  of  the  relative  who  wrote  her,  and  of 
which  he  gave  a  particular  account.  He  also  informed 
her  that  he  was  in  good  business  and  able  to  provide 
well  for  his  family,  and  enclosed  her  a  curl  of  hair  from 
the  head  of  his  baby,  which  he  had  named  for  their  de- 
ceased mother. 

Poor  Nora  sat  on  the  very  edge  of  the  chair,  with 
parted  lips,  gazing  into  my  face  until  I  had  finished, 
when  she  took  the  little  curl,  pressed  it  passionately  to 
her  lips,  and  heaved  a  deep  sigh  of  relief.  No  little  inci- 
dent has  affected  me  so  much  for  a  long  time.  The  kind 
and  sisterly  feelings  she  has  manifested,  have  greatly  in- 
creased my  respect  for  her. 

15 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

THE  WHIPPED  WIFE. 

FOR  a  few  weeks  my  husband  has  been  much  tried  by 
a  case  which  has  come  before  the  church,  of  a  member 
who  has  ill-used  his  wife,  who  indeed  does  not  hesitate 
to  say  that  he  has  wipped  her,  and  who  claims  a  right 
to  do  so.  She  is  naturally  a  woman  of  violent  temper ; 
but  if  ever  so  amiable,  I  think  the  treatment  she  has  re- 
ceived, would  be  enough  to  rouse  her.  The  name  of  tho 
man  is  Philip  Winn,  and  from  the  examination  of  the 
case,  by  a  committee  of  the  church,  to  whom  it  was  re- 
ferred, it  seems  that  her  father  was  a  wealthy  farmer, 
who  employed  him  to  work  upon  the  farm.  The  young 
people  became  attached,  but  when  young  Winn  applied 
to  his  master  for  liberty  to  marry  his  daughter,  the  old 
man  was  excessively  angry,  and  forbade  him  the  house. 
This  course,  however,  only  served  to  strengthen  the  af- 
fection existing  between  them.  Dorothy,  whose  wishes 
had  never  been  crossed,  did  not  for  one  moment  think  of 
yielding  to  her  parents'  commands  to  forget  her  lover  as 
quickly  as  possible.  She  continued  to  meet  him  by 
stealth,  and  at  the  expiration  of  a  month,  consented  to 
leave  her  pleasant  home  and  indulgent  friends,  for  one 
who  was  comparatively  a  stranger,  who  easily  convinced 
her  that  her  parents  would  soon  be  reconciled,  when  they 
knew  she  was  really  married. 

(170) 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED  LIFE.  171 

But  in  this,  the  young  pair  found  they  had  deceived 
themselves.  The  father  and  mother  persisted  in  their 
refusal  to  meet  their  daughter  or  to  forgive  her  disobe- 
dience and  ingratitude ;  and,  after  lingering  in  the  same 
town  a  number  of  weeks,  the  young  couple  con- 
cluded to  return  to  Mr.  Winn's  native  State.  About  a 
year  after  her  marriage,  Dorothy  was  seated  in  the  small 
room  which  her  husband's  limited  means  enabled  him  to 
hire,  when  she  was  startled  by  hearing  a  low  knock  at 
the  half  open  door.  Before  she  could  reach  it,  a  woman 
entered  with  a  young  child  in  her  arms,  which  she  laid 
upon  £he  table,  wrapped  up  closely  in  blankets.  The 
wild  and  haggard  appearance  of  the  woman  would  have 
startled  a  person  of  stronger  nerves  than  Dorothy,  who 
could  hardly  find  voice  to  ask  :  "  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  Want,"  repeated  the  beggar;  "  I  want  everything  — 
food  and  clothes  for  myself  and  baby !  I  've  walked 
fourteen  miles  to-day  with  that  great  lump  of  a  child ; 
for  one  of  my  neighbors  brought  me  word  from  Philip 
that  he  could  n't  give  me  money,  but  if  I  would  bring 
the  boy  he  would  support  him,  and  I  could  go  to  work." 

"  What  has  my  husband  to  do  with  your  child  ? " 
asked  Mrs.  Winn,  starting  to  her  feet,  her  eyes  sparkling, 
and  her  nostrils  dilating. 

"  You  better  ask  him  that  question.  If  he  tells  the 
truth,  he  '11  say  that  the  child  is  his  own,  and  that  he  is 
more  my  husband  than  he  is  yours,  for  I  was  all  but 
married  to  him  when  he  went  away,  to  be  gone  but  a 
few  weeks,"  —  and  the  poor  creature  sank  into  a  chair, 
and  hid  her  face  in  the  tattered  shawl  which  partly 
covered  her  person.  In  the  midst  of  her  overpowering 


172  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

indignation  at  the  deceit  her  husband  had  practised 
upon  her,  and  her  horror  at  his  vile  character,  she  could 
not  resist  an  emotion  of  compassion  for  the  trembling 
form  before  her,  and  was  just  about  to  express  some 
words  of  sympathy,  when  they  were  both  startled  by 
the  appearance  of  Mr.  Winn  at  the  door. 

At  one  glance  he  comprehended  the  whole  scene,  and 
determined  what  course  to  pursue.  "  Is  that  you, 
Molly,"  he  inquired,  advancing  into  the  room.  "  Ho, 
what  have  you  got  there,  rolled  up  so  tight  ?  "  he  said, 
glancing  at  the  child,  and  making  an  attempt  to  smile. 

The  woman  arose,  took  off  the  coarse  blanket,  and 
without  a  word  laid  the  sleeping  babe  in  his  father's 
arms. 

Notwithstanding  his  criminal  conduct  toward  the 
mother,  and  his  base  desertion  of  her,  the  father's  heart 
was  touched ;  a  softened  expression  stole  over  his  fea- 
tures as  he  passed  his  hand,  softly,  over  the  little  head 
lying  on  his  arm.  "  It 's  a  very  pretty  baby,"  he  said, 
with  an  inquiring  glance  at  his  wife,  who  deigned  no 
reply.  "  Well,  Molly,  what  are  you  going  to  do  with 
it,"  he  asked,  after  a  moment  of  awkward  silence; 
"  can't  you  take  care  of  the  little  fellow  ?  " 

The  question  restored  the  mother's  voice.  "  Take 
care  of  it!  Yes  ;  it's  like  tearing  my  limbs  asunder  to 
give  him  up,  and  if  you'll  provide  me  food  and  clothes 
for  him,  and  leave  him  with  me,  I  '11  forgive  all  the  sin 
and  shame  you  've  brought  upon  me." 

Mr.  Winn  shook  his  head.  "I  can't  support  two 
families.  It 's  hard  work  enough  for  me  to  support  one. 
But  you  may  leave  the  boy  here ;  wife  and  I  will  take 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  173 

care  of  it,  and  you  can  go  out  to  service,  and  earn  some, 
thing  for  yourself,  and  enough  to  clothe  the  boy." 

"  Never,"  said  Mrs.  Winn,  in  a  voice  so  full  of  passion 
that  Molly  caught  her  child  to  her  breast.  "  Never, 
while /live!" 

"  We  '11  see  about  that,"  replied  her  husband,  with  a 
sneer.  He  did  see  about  it,  and  the  child  remained ;  and 
though  in  her  husband's  presence  Mrs.  Winn  never  took 
the  least  notice  of  it,  yet  her  woman's  heart  yearned 
over  the  playful  little  fellow;  and  her  many  hours  of 
solitude,  while  her  husband  was  about  his  work,  were 
enlivened  by  her  increasing  fondness  for  the  child. 

Molly  went  out  to  work  in  the  neighborhood ;  and, 
occasionally,  Mrs.  Winn  saw  her,  at  dusk,  watching 
about  the  house  to  catch  a  glimpse  at  her  boy.  But  she 
never  suspected,  until  nearly  a  year  afterward,  —  when 
her  little  girl  was  ten  months'  old,  —  that  her  husband's 
sinful  affection  for  the  poor  woman  continued.  At  the 
end  of  that  time,  a  second  scene  occurred,  similar  to  the 
first,  —  except  that  the  criminal  parties  were  more 
hardened  in  their  guilt,  —  and  the  abused  wife  was 
now  entirely  devoid  of  compassion  for  the  guilty  woman, 
who  had  a  second  time  become  a  mother.  She  now  posi- 
tively refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with  the  helpless 
babe,  who  was  not  more  than  six  weeks'  old.  No 
threats  or  entreaties  prevailed  ;  —  the  child  should  not  be 
left  under  her  roof. 

Soon  after  this,  she  was  persuaded  by  her  husband  to 
remove  to  this  State,  where,  he  had  been  informed,  he 
could  obtain  much  larger  wages ;  and,  after  a  few  years, 

settled  in  B ,  bringing  with  them  not  only  her  own 

15* 


174  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

children,  but  the  little  boy  who  had  been  left  in  her 
care.  Since  they  have  lived  here,  they  have  been  con- 
sidered good  people ;  and,  as  they  brought  letters  from 
the  church,  where  they  last  lived,  they  were  received  into 
ours.  Of  late,  however,  the  family,  who  reside  in  the 
other  part  of  the  house,  have  heard  loud  talking  and 
quarrelling,  which,  at  length,  on  his  part,  proceeded  to 
blows.  "When  my  husband  called  upon  her,  she  showed 
him  the  marks  of  abusive  treatment  on  her  arms  and 
neck.  The  case  has  been  before  the  church  for  more 
than  a  week.  To-morrow,  Mrs.  Winn,  who  was  turned 
out  of  her  own  house  by  her  husband,  just  before  the 
matter  was  taken  up,  is  coming  to  pass  the  day  at 
the  Parsonage,  as  my  husband  wishes  me  to  have 
some  conversation  with  her  before  the  meeting  of  the 
committee  here,  in  the  evening.  Seldom  has  anything 
occasioned  so  much  talk  in  our  quiet  village. 

Mrs.  Winn  reached  the  Parsonage  about  ten  o'clock. 
Poor  woman !  she  has  my  warmest  sympathies.  From 
several  interviews  I  have  had  with  her  heretofore,  I  have 
supposed  her  to  be  very  passionate  in  her  temper,  and 
probably  equally  to  blame  as  her  husband,  for  the  un- 
happiness  existing  between  them.  But  though  I  cannot, 
now,  esteem  her  wholly  innocent,  —  indeed,  she  is  frank 
to  confess  her  haste  of  temper,  —  yet,  I  believe  there  are 
few  who  would  have  endured  the  treatment  she  has 
received  without  wholly  sinking  under  it.  Besides 
relating  many  particulars  which  were  not  contained  in 
the  papers,  she  told  me  that,  during  the  past  ten  years, 
she  had  frequently  received  money  from  her  parents; 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  175 

but  that  he  always  had  taken  the  letters  from  the  office 
and  appropriated  the  money  to  his  own  use,  not  even 
telling  her  he  had  received  it,  except,  as  she  expressed  it, 
4  to  'aggravate '  her  when  it  was  all  gone.  She  said  she 
had  been  bitterly  punished  for  her  hasty  marriage,  and 
disobedience  to  her  parents,  by  the  conduct  of  her  own 
children  ;  for  when  she  endeavored  to  train  them  as  she 
herself  was  taught,  to  habits  of  decency  and  propriety, 
he  took  part  against  her,  until  not  one  of  them  paid  any 
attention  to  her  wishes  or  commands.  She  had  truly 
brought  upon  herself  one  of  the  severest  trials  I  can 
imagine,  and  that  is,  being  married  to  a  man  whom  she 
can  neither  respect  nor  love.  She  says,  and  this  was 
confirmed  before  the  church,  that  he  is  in  the  constant 
habit  of  using  the  vilest  expressions  before  her  and  the 
children,  and  even  before  neighbors  who  come  in.  And 
all  this  time  the  great  majority  of  the  church  have  sup- 
posed him  a  good  man,  and  have  listened  to  his  exhorta- 
tions at  the  weekly  prayer  meetings  with  interest.  She 
told  me  yesterday  the  reason  she  never  went  to  those 
meetings,  which  was  that  she  could  not  endure  his  hypoc- 
ricy,  and  that  he  often  returned  home  and  boasted  what 
a  good  speech  he  had  made.  After  all,  I  think  she  must 
have  some  kind  of  affection  for  him,  for  she  wept  as  she 
showed  me  a  large  green  spot  on  her  arm,  where  he  had 
pinched  her,  and  said  that  he  himself  confessed  after- 
ward that  he  was  sorry  for  it.  "  Oh !  "  she  exclaimed, 
"  if  I  could  only  keep  my  tongue  still  when  he  begins  to 
abuse  me,  I  would  give  all  I  have  in  the  world ! "  She 
then  gave  one  instance  when  she  endeavored  to  do  this. 
"  A  few  weeks  ago,"  she  said,  "  I  was  sitting  with  my 


176  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

sewing  by  the  fire.  It  was  about  nine  o'  clock  in  the 
evening.  I  had  been  thinking  and  thinking  until  I  was 
almost  crazy ;  but  at  last  I  grew  more  calm,  and  deter- 
mined to  see  if  I  could  restrain  my  temper.  If  I  did  so, 
I  knew  I  must  keep  my  mouth  shut ;  so  when  I  heard  his 
step  down  the  street  I  dropped  my  work  and  sank  upon 
my  knees  to  ask  God  to  help  me  to  bear  patiently  what- 
ever he  might  say.  When  he  opened  the  door  I  looked 
up  at  him  and  tried  to  smile,  but  calling  me  a  vile  name 
he  took  down  his  pipe  and  began  to  smoke.  I  felt  angry 
enough  to  answer  back  in  the  same  strain;  but  I  bit 
my  lips  and  continued  my  sewing. 

" '  What's  the  game  now  ? '  he  asked  contemptuously, 
'out  with  it.  None  of  your  sulks.'"  But  I  persisted  in 
not  answering,  though  as  he  went  on,  my  lips  bled  where 
my  teeth  had  entered.  I  never  saw  him  so  angry  in  my 
life.  He  declared  he'd  kill  me  if  I  didn't  answer  him, 
and  so  I  had  to  give  up,"  she  added  with  a  deep  sigh, 
"  and  when  I  once  began  I  couldn't  stop  until  I'd  told 
him  all  I'd  been  thinking  of,  how  he  took  me  away  from 
my  pleasant  home,  and  had  ever  since  rendered  me  the 
most  miserable  being  in  the  wide  world." 

What  could  I  say  to  comfort  her?  My  eyes  were 
overflowing  in  sympathy  with  hers ;  but  my  voice  was 
mute. 

In  the  evening  six  gentlemeji  met  in  the  parlor,  and  as 
she  was  the  only  female,  I  reluctantly  consented  to  her 
wishes,  to  remain  by  her  side.  I  seated  her  in  a  rocking- 
chair,  and  placed  a  chair  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  room 
for  her  husband.  When  Nora  opened  the  door  below, 
and  she  heard  the  voice  which  last  she  had  heard  a?  he 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  177 

ordered  her  to  leave  his  house  forever,  the  poor  woman 
fell  back  in  her  chair,  and  grew  so  pale  that  I  ran  to  the 
nursery  for  cologne,  with  which  I  bathed  her  head. 
After  a  few  minutes'  conversation  in  the  parlor,  the 
committee  accompanied  my  husband  to  the  study;  but 
Mrs.  Winn  put  her  handkerchief  before  her  face.  After 
a  short  prayer,  for  guidance  in  the  case  before  them,  one 
of  the  gentlemen  proposed  some  questions  to  Mr.  Winn, 
who  commenced,  though  in  rather  an  embarrassed  man- 
ner, to  speak  of  his  strong  affection  for  his  wife.  He 
soon  became  quite  eloquent  in  his  imaginary  sketch  of 
his  feelings,  and  called  her  by  the  most  endearing  terms, 
—  "  my  own  dear  wife !  "  "  my  dear  Dorothy ! " 

In  the  mean  time,  she  had  uncovered  her  face,  leaned 
forward  in  her  chair,  and  with  her  lips  parted  was 
eagerly  listening  to  this  unusual  language  of  tender- 
ness !  At  length,  with  an  expression  half-comic,  half- 
tragic,  but  in  which  she  was  evidently  sincere,  she 
burst  out :  "  O,  I  never  heard  so  fine  a  speech  in  all 
my  life  !  Why  can't  you  talk  so  at  home  ?  " 

The  embarrassment  of  the  poor  man  at  his  sudden 
downfall  was  so  ludicrous  that,  notwithstanding  the 
grave  import  of  the  meeting,  every  member  of  the  com- 
mittee laughed  aloud ;  and  nothing  but  my  sympathy 
for  the  poor  wife,  as  she  suddenly  recollected  that  she 
had  "  spoke  in  the*meeting,"  prevented  me  from  joining 
with  them.  After  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Winn  were  dismissed 
from  the  room,  the  committee  were  by  themselves,  until 
a  late  hour,  and  at  length  were  obliged,  by  the  evidence 
before  them,  to  cut  the  husband  off  from  communion 
with  our  church,  until  such  time  as  he  shall  manifest 


178  THE    FIRST    AND    THE     SECOND    MARRIAGES. 

sincere  contrition  for  his  past  course,  and  a  determina- 
tion to  live  differently  in  future. 

My  husband  was  requested  to  draw  up  a  letter,  to  be 
read  to  Mrs.  Winn,  whereby  the  church  sympathize  with 
her  in  her  trials  ;  but  also  censure  her  for  the  indulgence 
of  such  passionate  bursts  of  temper  as  she  has  freely 
confessed.  She  passed  the  night  at  our  house  ;  and  this 
morning,  before  she  left,  Mr.  Gordon  imparted  to  her  the 
result  of  their  meeting.  She  was  very  much  affected  at 
the  punishment  (as  she  called  it),  of  her  husband,  and 
said :  "  It  will  touch  him  in  the  tenderest  point ;  for  he 
always  lots  upon  the  good  opinion  of  the  church." 

With  regard  to  herself,  she  thought  they  had  been 
very  lenient ;  and  said,  she  was  afraid  Mr.  Gordon  did  n't 
know  how  bad  she  was  when  she  got  excited.  I  saw 
my  hushand  had  difficulty  in  keeping  his  countenance 
unmoved,  at  so  frank  a  confession.  After  she  left,  Mr. 
Gordon  listened  with  interest  to  all  my  plea  in  her 
behalf,  which  he  was  not  before  willing  to  do,  lest  his 
mind  should  be  biased  by  my  enthusiasm,  as  he  was 
pleased  to  call  it. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  FIRST  HUSBAND'S  FAMILY  AND  PARISH. 

WHEN  the  twins  were  two  years  and  a  half  old  a 
little  son  was  added  to  the  family,  at  the  Parsonage, 
who  soon  received  the  name  of  Frederic.  He  was  a 
very  large,  healthy  child,  and  when  nine  months  old 
bid  fair  to  become  the  master  of  his  two  gentle  sisters. 
With  his  nurse>  however,  he  was  infallible  ;  and  the 
wonderful  stories  she  related  of  "  our  baby"  were  the 
astonishment  of  her  companions  throughout  the  parish. 

About  this  time  Mrs.  Hammond,  the  widowed  sister 
of  Mr.  Warren,  came  to  pass  the  summer  with  her 
favorite  niece.  The  arrival  of  aunt  Susan  was  wel- 
comed with  great  delight.  The  spare  chamber  was 
arranged  just  as  the  young  Susan  thought  would 
gratify  her  taste.  Flowers  were  placed  upon  the 
mantel-piece  and  work-table,  and  aunt  Susan  declared 
it  looked  like  a  little  paradise.  Though  suffering  from 
debility,  yet  nothing  pleased  her  more  than  to  have  the 
quiet  little  girls  bring  their  basket  of  toys  into  her  room, 
and  there  amuse  themselves  in  their  play.  Helen  and 
Fanny  had  never  been  known  to  quarrel  with  each 
other.  Sometimes,  if  one  of  them  insisted  upon  a  toy, 
the  other  had  in  possession,  the  lip  would  quiver,  and 
tears  fill  the  eyes  ;  but  this  always  ended  in  their  giving 
up  to  each  other. 

(179) 


180  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

In  the  management  of  their  children,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Gordon  displayed  much  tact  and  wisdom,  though  the 
young  mother  often  declared  that  she  shrank  from  so 
fearful  a  responsibility.  With  the  twins  but  little  exer- 
cise of  authority  was  necessary,  for  they  were  naturally 
mild  and  yielding.  A  word  of  reproof  brought  a  flood  of 
tears,  in  which  the  innocent  one  always  fully  sympathized. 
Though  their  watchful  parents  were  not  long  in  disco\er- 
ing  the  germs  of  evil,  which,  if  not  eradicated,  would 
grow  and  bear  bitter  fruit ;  yet  they  every  day  thanked 
God  for  the  lovely  characters  of  their  first  born. 

With  Frederic  it  was  very  different.  He  was,  from  his 
birth,  a  self-willed,  obstinate  little  fellow,  who,  if  his 
wants  were  not  instantly  gratified,  made  it  known  to  the 
whole  neighborhood  by  his  loud  crying  ;  and  if  either  of 
the  parents  attempted  the  slightest  discipline,  such  as  to 
keep  him  in  bed  when  he  wished  to  be  up  where  the 
bright  light  was  burning  so  beautifully,  or  to  withhold 
his  food  when  he  had  already  eaten  too  much,  his  poor 
mother's  head  ached  with  the  violence  of  his  screams ; 
and  she  often  said,  « the  neighbors  will  certainly  think  I 
am  killing  him."  Mr.  Gordon,  however,  had  no  scruples 
on  that  account,  and  by  never  yielding  to  him  simply  be- 
cause he  cried,  the  little  fellow  soon  learned  wonderful 
self-control.  But  with  Nora  he  had  his  own  way. 
Never  was  there  a  more  devoted  and  willing  slave,  than 
she  was  to  his  numerous  whims  and  caprices. 

The  grounds  about  the  parsonage  had  become  very 
productive.  The  trees  which  Mr.  Gordon  had  planted 
the  first  year  of  his  settlement,  were  now  beginning  to 
bear,  so  that  during  this  year  they  had  a  plentiful  supply 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  181 

of  cherries,  peaches  and  plums,  with  currants  and  goose- 
berries. For  the  last  two  years  Mr.  McDonald,  now  a 
a  steady  man  and  kind  husband,  had  taken  the  care 
of  the  garden  and  orchard.  This,  however,  occu- 
pied him  but  a  part  of  the  time ;  and  he  readily  pro- 
cured work  by  the  day,  from  the  farmers  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, sometimes  taking  his  pay  from  the  produce, 
and  sometimes  in  ready  money.  But  he  always  ob- 
tained a  comfortable  support  for  his  family.  Another 
little  Jamie  had  come  to  them,  but  when  night  and 
morning  they  bowed  before  the  family  altar,  they  never 
forgot  to  bless  God  for  their  first-born,  who  was  now  an 
angel  in  heaven. 

Mrs.  Rand  had  for  a  year  been  sleeping  peacefully  in 
the  quiet  churchyard,  by  the  side  of  her  husband.  The 
character  of  her  daughter,  now  thrown  wholly  upon  the 
companionship  of  her  husband  had  assumed  a  more 
cheerful  tone.  Mr.  Choate  was  highly  respected  in  the 
community,  and  was  in  a  fair  way  to  become  a  wealthy 
man.  At  the  old  gentleman's  death  the  whole  farm  be- 
came his,  together  with  some  personal  property.  By 
selling  a  few  acres  of  his  meadow  land,  he  procured  the 
means  to  enlarge  his  ^ stock  and  enrich  his  soil.  Mrs. 
Choate  was  considered  one  of  the  best  dairy-women  in 
the  county.  Certainly  she  commanded  the  highest 
prices  for  her  butter  and  cheese.  Many  a  golden  ball  of 
the  former,  nicely  stamped  with  a  bunch  of  grapes  or  a 
sheaf  of  wheat,  found  its  way  to  the  parsonage.  Accom- 
panying this  expression  of  affection  for  their  minister  and 
his  family,  James  always  put  into  the  wagon  a  few  of 
his  best  early  potatoes,  or  golden  pippins,  or  something 
16 


182  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

else,  according  to  the  season,  for  he  never  forgot  Mrs. 
Gordon's  kind  interest  in  his  sickly  baby,  while  he  fol- 
lowed his  father-in-law  to  the  grave. 

Late  in  the  fall,  Mrs.  Hammond,  after  passing  a  few 
weeks  with  her  brother,  proceeded  to  New  York  for  the 
winter,  where  she  was  persuaded  to  purchase  a  house. 

Notice  having  been  given  of  their  return  to  B , 

Bessie  had  taken  the  children  home  to  meet  their  parents. 
It  was  indeed  a  joyful  meeting.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Warren, 
with  their  whole  family,  being  present,  as  Thomas  hap- 
pened to  be  on  a  visit  from  New  York,  where  he  had 
gone  into  business.  The  parishioners  had  somehow 
found  out  the  day  of  their  pastor's  return,  and  substan- 
tial tokens  of  this  knowledge  came  to  the  parsonage 
in  the  shape  of  roasted  fowls,  pies,  bread  and  cake. 
When  they  drove  up  to  the  door,  three  little  heads  were 
peeping  from  the  front  windows,  which,  however,  sud- 
denly disappeared,  and  at  length,  when  their  parents  en- 
tered, emerged,  in  state,  from  the  dining-room,  under  the 
supervision  of  Bessie,  on  one  side,  and  Nora  on  the 
other.  The  little  girls  were  leading  between  them 
Master  Frederic,  who  consented  to  walk  upright,  af- 
ter having  for  fourteen  months  been  on  "ah1  fours." 
Upon  their  bosoms  were  cards  printed  in  large  char- 
acters, "welcome,  dear  father  and  mother!  Welcome 
home  !  "  The  young  gentleman  was,  however,  so  much 
excited  by  the  sight  of  his  parents,  that  he  snatched 
the  card  from  his  dress,  and  kneeling  on  the  floor  darted 
across  to  the  spot  where  they  stood,  that  he  might  put 
it  into  his  mother's  hand. 

«  That  was  too  bad,  brother,"  exclaimed  Helen,  "aunty 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  183 

told  you  to  walk ;  come  and  let  mamma  see  how  well 
you  can  go." 

But  papa  and  mamma  had  already  caught  the  loved 
ones  in  their  arms,  and  the  exhibition  was  postponed 
until  another  time. 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

DEATH  AT  THE  PARSONAGE. 

THE  following  spring  was  a  season  of  unusual  mor- 
tality in    B .       The    scarlet  fever,  that  terrible 

scourge  of  some  parts  of  New  England,  raged  fearfully 
among  the  inhabitants.  From  almost  every  house  came 
the  sound  of  sorrow  and  wailing ;  and  as  surely  might 
be  heard  the  voice  of  the  good  clergyman,  pointing  the 
dying  to  a  crucified  Saviour,  by  whose  merits  alone  they 
could  be  saved,  or  administering  consolation  to  the 
mourners.  From  some  parents  all  their  children  were 
taken,  and  many  lost  one,  two,  or  three,  from  their  family 
circle.  As  soon  as  he  ascertained  that  there  were  com- 
paratively few  cases  in  her  father's  parish,  Mr.  Gordon 

insisted  that  his  wife  and  children  should  leave  B 

until  the  fever  had  subsided.  In  vain  were  all  his  wife's 
remonstrances.  He  sent  a  note  to  Mr.  Warren,  request- 
ing him  to  come  with  a  carryall  and  take  them  to  his  house. 
But  he  promised  if  he  should  be  taken  sick  that  he  would 
at  once  inform  her.  With  this  promise  she  was  obliged 
to  content  herself,  and  reluctantly  left  her  dear  home, 
taking  with  her  Nora  and  her  three  babes,  Hannah  hav- 
ing consented  to  remain  with  Mr.  Gordon.  Twice  every 
day,  for  three  days,  did  the  young  wife  hear  of  the  con- 
tinued health  of  her  husband,  by  means  of  a  market 
man,  who  passed  through  the  town.  But  on  the  morn- 

(184) 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  185 

ing  of  the  fourth  day  she  watched  in  vain  for  the  mes- 
senger. It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock,  and  her  father  had 
been  endeavoring  to  convince  her  that  her  alarm  was 
needless,  and  that  she  would  probably  hear  from  him  in 
the  afternoon,  when  a  man  was  seen  driving  hastily  into 
the  yard.  Mrs.  Gordon  sprang  to  the  door,  as  she  recog- 
nized her  husband's  horse  and  buggy,  and  saw  that  the 
man  was  Mr.  Cleaveland,  one  of  their  nearest  neighbors. 
"  How  is  my  husband  ?  "  she  asked  quickly. 

Mr.  Cleaveland  either  did  not  hear,  or  he  could  not 
reply,  for  he  immediately  beckoned  to  Mr.  Warren,  and 
followed  him  at  once  to  his  study. 

Mrs.  Gordon  experienced  a  sudden  faintness,  and  while 
every  particle  of  color  faded  from  her  face  and  lips,  she 
caught  hold  of  a  chair  for  support.  But  quickly  rallying, 
she  exclaimed  to  her  mother,  "  I  cannot  bear  this  sus- 
pense, I  must  know  the  worst,"  and  followed  her  father 
to  his  study.  Mr.  Warren  advanced  and  took  her  hand. 
"  Be  calm,  my  daughter,"  he  said,  though  in  hurried 
tones,  "  Your  husband  has  had  another  attack  of  pleurisy, 
and  we  must  hasten  to  him." 

"Is  he  alone?"  she  asked,  catching  her  breath  with 
difficulty. 

"  Oh,  no ! "  answered  Mr.  Cleaveland,  averting  his 
face  from  her  tearful  glance.  "  The  Doctor  is  there ; 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hall  have  been  with  him  through  the 
morning." 

Without  a  tear  the  poor  wife  turned  to  leave  the  room, 

merely  saying  in  a  broken  voice,  "  I  will  .go  at  once;" 

and  her  father  made  hasty  preparations  -to  accompany 

her.     It  was  hardly  ten  minutes  from  the  time  when  Mr. 

16* 


186  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

Cleaveland  drove  into  the  yard,  before  he  was  on  his 
way  home.  Not  a  word  was  spoken  by  the  distressed 
wife,  as  they  drove  hastily  on,  though  with  her  hand 
pressed  upon  her  heart,  she  listened  to  every  inquiry 
which  her  father  made.  As  they  approached  the  house, 
Mr.  Warren  observed  her  close  her  eyes  and  move  her  lips 
as  if  in  prayer.  In  silence,  he  lifted  her  from  the  carriage, 
wondering  at  her  outward  calmness,  and  praying  that 
she  might  be  sustained  in  the  coming  trial ;  for  he  knew 
Mr.  Gordon  could  not  live.  Pausing  but  for  one  moment 
to  throw  aside  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  the  young  wife  flew 
up  the  staircase  to  her  own  room. 

Alas !  What  a  scene  awaited  her !  Though  the  day 
was  cool,  the  windows  were  all  thrown  open  to  obtain  a 
draught.  The  poor  sufferer  was  propped  up  in  the  bed 
with  pillows,  while  Mr.  Hall  stood  before  him  with  a 
large  fan  in  the  vain  endeavor  to  enable  him  to  catch  his 
breath.  Mrs.  Hall  was  wiping  the  cold  moisture  from 
her  pastor's  brow,  while  the  devoted  physician  stood  by 
his  side  watching  with  intense  anxiety  the  effect  of  the 
medicine.  All  this  the  distracted  wife  saw  at  a  glance. 
She  needed  not  to  be  told  in  words ;  she  knew  that  her 
husband  was  dying;  and  with  an  agonizing  cry,  ".oh, 
why  was  I  away !"  she  sprang  forward  to  the  side  of  the 
bed.  A  faint  groan  escaped  the  lips  of  the  dying  man ; 
but  he  made  a  feeble  motion  to  all  to  withdraw.  They 
did  so,  and  though  every  breath  was  a  gasp,  he  placed 
his  hand  upon  her  bowed  head,  as  she  knelt  by  his  side, 
her  whole  form  shaken  by  the  fierce  emotions  which  were 
almost  overwhelming  her.  "Dear  —  precious  —  wife," 
he  murmured,  "  May—  God—  sustain  —  you  —  in  —  this 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  187 

—  hour  —  of  trial.     It  won't  —  be  —  long  —  ere  we  shall 
meet  —  to  part  no  more  forever.  —  You  have  been  the 
greatest  blessing  of  my  life.  —  Remember  this."  —  After 
a  dreadful  struggle  for  breath,  he  added,  "  oh,  it  is  hard 

—  to   part  with   you.  —  I   thought   I   had   done  with 
earth." 

"  I  cannot,  Oh,  I  cannot  give  you  up ! "  cried  the  poor 
distressed-  wife.  "  Oh,  God,  take  my  children,  take  all 
else,  but  spare  my  husband ! " 

The  dying  man  sank  back  gasping,  and  making  a  feeble 
effort  to  wipe  his  mouth.  When  the  handkerchief  fell 
from  his  hand,  it  was  covered  with  spots  of  blood. 

"Father!  Doctor!"  shrieked  Mrs.  Gordon. 

They  instantly  approached ;  and  it  needed  but  one 
glance  to  tell  them  that  the  dread  messenger  who  must 

sooner  or  later  come  to  all,  was  at  hand.  Dr.  S 

gently  raised  the  head  of  the  sufferer,  while  Mrs.  Hall 
arranged  the  pillows.  The  short  convulsive  gasps  grew 
fainter  and  fainter ;  his  eyes  which  had  been  fixed  with 
an  expression  of  unutterable  love  upon  his  wife,  were 
raised  to  heaven ;  a  celestial  smile  stole  over  his  counte- 
nance ;  and  with  the  whispered  words,  "  blessed  Saviour," 
upon  his  lips,  his  spirit  ascended  to  God. 

After  a  moment  the  physician  stepped  forward  and 
gently  closed  the  eyes,  when  with  a  heart-broken  cry, 
which  those  who  heard  it  never  forgot,  the  newly  made 
widow  fell  senseless  to  the  floor.  We  must  draw  a  veil 
over  many  of  the  events  which  followed.  After  that  first 
cry  of  anguish,  wrung  from  her  heart,  Mrs.  Gordon  arose 
from  her  couch,  and  without  a  tear,  went  on  in  the  per- 
formance of  her  duties  as  a  mother.  Her  neighbors  and 


188  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

friends  wondered  as  they  witnessed  her  calmness.  Even 
her  father  and  mother  could  scarcely  realize  this  change 
in  their  impulsive  daughter.  But  the  physician  knew 
that  this  was  an  unnatural  calmness,  and  it  rendered  him 
far  more  anxious  than  the  most  passionate  outbursts  of 
grief. 

In  the  remembrance  of  the  oldest  inhabitants  in  the 
town,  there  had  never  been  so  large  a  funeral  or  so  long  a 
procession  as  followed  the  remains  of  this  beloved  pastor  to 
the  grave.  Many  tears  were  shed  by  young  and  old.  Many 
eyes,  unused  to  weeping,  were  suffused,  as  they  gazed  for 
the  last  time  upon  the  marble  countenance  of  their  loved 
pastor,  so  placid  and  peaceful  in  death.  Many  more,  as 
they  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  tearless  eye  and  bowed 
form  of  her,  from  whom  had  been  taken  the  companion 
of  her  youth,  the  light  of  her  young  life.  It  was  not  until 
dust  had  been  consigned  to  dust ;  not  until  she,  with 
her  sorrowing  parents,  brothers  and  sisters  had  returned  to 
her  desolate  home,  where  five  blissful  years  had  been 
passed  with  him  who  had  gone  forever,  and  not  until 
her  fatherless  children  were  brought  into  the  room, 
placed  in  her  arms,  and  her  little  girls  gazing  around  in 
afirighi^lisped  the  name  of  "  papa,"  that  the  fountains 
of  her  grief  were  broken  up,  and  tears  flowed  forth  to 
relieve  her  bursting  heart.  She  clasped  her  orphan  chil- 
dren to  her  breast,  in  a  close,  warm  embrace,  while  her 
sympathizing  friends  turned  aside  to  wipe  the  thickly 
falling  tears. 

Oh,  who  would  not  pity  a  widow  who  had  no  such 
blessed  ties  to  earth,  when  he  who  is  best  loved  is  re- 
moved forever  from  her  sight !  Who  would  not  pray 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  189 

that  in  these  precious  mementos  of  his  love,  she  might 
find  a  healing  balm  for  her  torn  and  bleeding  heart ! 

When,  at  the  end  of  an  hour,  the  physician  reluctantly 
left  the  house  rendered  so  sacred  to  him  by  the  death  of 
his  respected  and  beloved  pastor,  he  left  it  with  gratitude 
that  his  plan  had  been  successful,  far  beyond  what  he 
had  dared  to  expect,  that  the  sight  of  her  children  had 
called  forth  a  natural  expression  of  sorrow,  which  had 
probably  saved  her  reason,  perhaps  her  life.  That  night 
her  parents  remained  with  her  at  the  parsonage,  and  the 
next  morning  she  made  not  the  slightest  opposition  to 
returning  with  them  to  the  parental  roof. 

When  her  kind  friend,  Mrs.  Hall,  asked,  as  she  was 
leaving,  if  she  had  any  directions  to  give,  she  only  shook 
her  head,  as  she  mournfully  replied,  "  I  can  never  come 
back."  Just  one  week  from  the  time  when  she  reached 
her  father's  house  to  remain  a  few  days,  she  returned 
thither,  with  her  babes  in  her  arms,  a  widow. 

Months  after,  when  time,  that  blessed  comforter,  had 
allayed  the  poignancy  of  her  grief,  she  found  a  painful 
consolation  in  writing  in  her  diary. 

The  first  date  was  the  following  spring,  when  she 
wrote,  "  A  widow !  Yes,  a  widow  !  How  truly  I  now 
understand  the  import  of  that  word !  God  alone,  who 
knows  the  struggle  in  my  heart  before  I  could  say, '  thou 
art  just  in  all  thy  ways,'  has  had  respect  unto  my  lonely 
condition,  and  heard  my  earnest,  agonizing  cry  for  grace 
and  strength  to  submit  to  his  will.  Often  have  my  knees 
been  bent  in  prayer,  and  my  voice  refused  to  articulate  — 
but  my  heart  cried  out,  '  Oh,  God,  I  am  a  widow 
from  whom  thou  hast  taken  him  who  was  dearer  to  me 


190  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

than  all  beside.  Thou  hast  left  my  soul  desolate ;  Wilt 
thou  not  be  to  me  a  support  and  strength  ?  '  Oh,  how 
many  precious  words  of  consolation  there  are  in  the  Scrip- 
tures, addressed  to  just  such  bleeding  hearts  as  mine! 
Surely  my  heavenly  Father  understands  and  pities  my 
lone  condition." 

A  month  later  she  writes,  "  How  many  times  have  I 
wept  sympathizing  tears,  as  I  have  seen  a  husband 
buried  from  his  wife !  But  oh,  how  little  I  understood 
the  bitterness  of  her  grief!  Parents,  brothers  and  sisters 
are  no  less  dear  than  before ;  but  oh,  my  husband,  did 
you  realize  that  you  would  leave  me  alone  ?  —  that  when 
the  waves  of  sorrow  dashed  over  me,  and  well  nigh  over- 
whelmed me,  your  sympathizing  breast  would  be  mould- 
ering in  the  dust,  and  your  heart  so  quick  to  feel  all  my 
sorrow,  be  unmoved  by  my  tears!  Oh,  my  God,  help 
me  to  raise  my  thoughts  to  thy  throne !  Dissever  them 
from  the  frail  tenement  of  clay,  which,  alas !  is  mingling 
with  its  native  earth,  and  follow  the  blessed  spirit  to  its 
seat  at  thy  right  hand ! " 

"  All  thy  waves  and  thy  billows  are  gone  over  me." 

To-day  I  attended  the  funeral  of  Mr.  Sawyer.  Oh, 
how  vividly  did  it  bring  back  my  dreadful  loss !  "  Bring 
back,"  did  I  say  ?  The  crushing  weight  upon  my  heart 
has  never  lightened.  Day  and  night  I  live  in  the  past. 
Even  in  my  dreams,  I  am  with  my  dear,  blessed  husband. 
Alas,  I  awake,  and  it  is  but  a  dream !  As  the  widow 
bent  over  the  coffin,  and  pressed  her  pale  lips  to  the  cold 
clay  which  would  soon  be  buried  from  her  sight,  my 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  191 

breath  came  quickly ;  and  I  was  almost  suffocated  with 
the  violence  of  my  emotions.  I  wept  so  much  that  my 
friends  became  alarmed,  and  while  the  procession  was 
forming,  led  me  from  the  room.  For  a  time  I  lost  all 
control  over  myself,  and  was  unable  to  speak.  But  by 
the  kindness  of  Mrs.  Wells  and  Eleanor,  who  remained 
and  administered  to  my  comfort,  I  was  at  length  ena- 
bled to  ride  home.  Dear  father  blamed  himself  for  invit- 
ing me  to  accompany  him.  But  he  could  not  know  with 
what  freshness  it  would  bring  my  loss  to  mind.  I  often 
fear  that  my  heavenly  Father  who  searcheth  my  heart, 
seeth  there  a  spirit  of  rebellion  to  his  chastening  rod. 
My  prayer  is,  that  I  may  from  the  heart  say,  "  thy  will, 
not  mine,  be  done."  "  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath 
taken  away,  blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord."  Divine 
grace  alone  can  enable  us  to  repeat  these  inspired  words. 

Helen  and  Fanny  already  seem  to  have  forgotten  the 
loss  they  have  sustained, —  a  loss  which  can  never  be 
made  up  to  them.  Blessed  buoyancy  of  childhood! 
Frederic  will  remember  neither  a  father's  care,  nor  a 
father's  love.  But  there  is  nothing  which  interests  them 
so  much  as  to  relate  instances  of  his  tenderness,  and  af- 
fection. Every  hour  in  the  day  I  am  reminded  of  him. 
"When  my  little  ones  say  anything  which  I  think  would 
please  him,  I  feel  for  one  instant  the  impulse,  "  I  must 
remember  to  tell  their  father  that ;  but  oh,  so  soon  comes 
the  thought, '  He  is  no  longer  on  earth ! ' " 

Sometimes  I  have  such  a  yearning  for  one  more  inter- 
view with  him,  that  I  may  ask  his  advice,  or  hear  his  ex- 
pression of  affection,  that  I  can  hardly  be  reconciled  to 


192  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  | 

the  affliction  that  has  taken  him  from  me.  God  forgive 
me,  if  his  all-seeing  eye  discovers  in  my  heart  anything 
that  is  wrong.  But  when  I  remember  that  for  five  years 
I  had  not  a  joy  nor  a  sorrow  unshared  by  him,  and  that 
never,  never  more  can  I  lay  my  head  upon  his  breast  and 
hear  him  say,  "  my  darling  wife,"  my  soul  refuseth  to  be 
comforted. 

Since  writing  the  above,  I  have  been  led  to  see  that 
while  cherishing  such  grief  for  my  husband,  I  was  in 
danger  of  forgetting  my  mercies.  When  my  little  Fred- 
eric lay  at  the  point  of  death,  I  saw  clearly  where  I  had 
sinned.  God  has  a  perfect  right  to  all  my  treasures  ;  but 
he  in  mercy  gave  back  to  me  my  babe,  in  answer  to  my 
importunate  prayers.  I  saw  also  that  I  had  made  an 
idol  of  my  husband,  and  was  in  danger  of  doing  so  with 
regard  to  my  children,  and  my  heavenly  Father  took  this 
method  to  draw  my  affections  more  to  himself.  I  love  to 
think  that  he  had  a  special  regard  to  my  being  a  widow, 
when  he  thus  spared  my  only  son. 

For  six  months  I  have  lived  in  New  York  city,  with 
aunt  Hammond.  She  invited  me  for  the  winter  months ; 
but  now  she  insists  that  I  shall  consider  this  my  perma- 
nent home.  She  has  been  like  a  kind  parent  to  me  in 
all  my  affliction.  The  sum  of  five  thousand  dollars 
which  my  husband  had  in  the  bank,  previous  to  our  mar- 
riage, is  still  untouched ;  and  she  added  to  it  what  was 
obtained  from  the  sale  of  my  furniture.  All  this,  she 
says,  I  shall  need  bye  and  bye,  for  the  education  of  my 
children ;  but  while  she  lives,  she  will  take  care  of  me. 
She  has  a  nephew,  Mr.  Whitney,  who  is  also  very  kind 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  193 

to  me,  and  very  generous  in  his  gifts  to  my  little  father- 
less ones.  He  was  a  favorite  nephew  of  uncle  Ham- 
mond, being  the  only  child  of  his  youngest  sister,  and 
early  left  in  his  charge.  Ever  since  uncle's  death,  he  has 
had  the  care  of  her  property,  and  purchased  for  her  the 
elegant  house  in  which  she  now  resides.  Indeed  this 
street  is  considered  one  of  the  most  aristocratic  in  the 
city,  and  on  every  side  we  are  surrounded  by  millionnaires. 
As  yet  I  have  made  very  few  acquaintances.  Brother 
Thomas  is  in  business  here,  and  often  passes  an  evening 
with  us.  So  far  he  has  never  repented  the  choice  of  a 
mercantile  life ;  but  says  he  will  refund  to  father  every 
cent  he  has  spent  on  his  education ;  and  by  that  means 
Edward  can  be  fitted  for  a  minister.  He  has  already 
been  very  successful,  and  has  lately  been  taken  into  the 
firm  as  junior  partner;  his  old  friend,  Squire  Wells, 
generously  advancing  the  money  to  enable  him  to  do  so. 
Next  winter,  he  intends  to  pass  in  the  southern  states, 
transacting  business  for  the  firm. 

Nora  and  Moselle  take  the  children  for  a  daily  walk, 
around  the  Park,  a  key  to  which  aunt  generously  pro- 
cured for  me.  When  I  remonstrated  against  the  ex- 
pense, she  replied,  "  We  shall  gain  it  in  freedom  from 
care,  while  they  are  out." 

17 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

THE  HEIRESS. 

IN  a  spacious,  richly  furnished  parlor  of  an  elegant 

mansion  in  S ,  sat  three  ladies  busily  occupied 

with  their  sewing.  The  elder  was  a  middle-aged  woman 
of  mild  and  pleasing  countenance ;  the  others  appeared 
to  be  from  fifteen  to  seventeen.  Helen,  who  was  seated 
near  the  window,  suddenly  looked  up  from  her  work,  and 
was  about  to  speak,  when  she  was  interrupted  by  a  quick 
step  in  the  hall,  the  door  of  the  parlor  being  eagerly 
thrown  open,  and  a  young  lady  bounded  into  the  room, 
exclaiming  as  she  did  so,  "  good  news,  mamma !  good 
news,  girls !  Laura  has  accepted  our  invitation,  and  will 
be  here  the  latter  part  of  next  week,  or  the  first  of  the 
week  following ;  the  wedding  is  to  be  on  the  twenty-sec- 
ond." Helen  and  Marianne  instinctively  started  from 
their  seats,  and  before  they  were  aware,  Clara  had  put 
her  arms  around  them,  and  was  rapidly  whirling  them 
about  the  room. 

After  a  moment,  the  excited  girl  sank  breathless  into 
a  chair,  saying,  "oh,  mamma!  I'm  so  delighted,  Laura 
wants  us  all  to  be  bridemaids." 

"  If  that  is  the  case,  I  shall  write  at  once  for  Willie  to 
come  home  and  stand  with  me,"  said  Helen,  archly  look- 
ing at  the  blushing  countenance  of  her  cousin.  "  How 
convenient  it  is  to  have  a  brother.  Then  it  is  pleasant 

(194) 


THE    COURTESIES    OF   WEDDED    LIFE.  195 

to  hear  people  say,  'what  a  fine  looking  fellow  that 
young  Russel  is,  and  how  fond  he  appears  of  his  sis- 
ter.'" 

Mrs.  Russel  smiled,  as  she  saw  the  crimson  becoming 
deeper  and  deeper  upon  the  cheeks  of  her  daughter,  and 
said,  "  I  should  like  to  hear  Laura's  letter.  When  does 
she  say  her  husband  elect,  will  come?" 

While  she  is  thus  engaged,  we  will  introduce  our  read- 
ers to  the  members  of  this  happy  home.  Mr.  Russel,  the 
owner  of  the  mansion,  and  the  father  of  the  family,  was 
a  merchant  of  great  wealth  ;  and  what  was  of  far  more 
consequence  to  his  family,  he  was  a  scholar,  a  gentle- 
man, and  a  Christian. 

His  father  died  when  he  was  very  young,  leaving  him- 
self and  two  brothers,  one  older  and  the  other  younger, 
to  the  care  of  their  widowed  mother.  But  well  was  she 
fitted  for  the  work,  and  nobly  had  she  performed  her 
duties  toward  her  fatherless  boys.  She  taught  them  to 
depend  upon  themselves ;  to  think  and  act  rightly ;  to 
be  industrious,  persevering  and  prudent.  Above  all,  she 
earnestly  endeavored  to  cultivate  their  affections  toward 
each  other,  and  toward  their  Maker.  Morning  and  eve- 
ning she  knelt  with  them  at  the  family  altar,  and  com- 
mitted herself  and  her  beloved  children  to  Him  who  has 
promised  to  be  "  the  widow's  God,  and  a  father  of  the 
fatherless."  As  they  grew  up  toward  manhood,  she  had 
the  unspeakable  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  dear  sons  ami- 
able and  virtuous,  guided  and  governed  by  the  precepts 
of  the  inspired  word  of  God. 

The  elder  son,  Mr.  George  Russel,  chose  the  mer- 
cantile profession,  and  represented  its  advantages  in 


196  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

such  glowing  colors,  that  both  his  brothers  followed  his 
example.  When  Henry,  the  younger,  attained  the  age 
of  twenty-one,  the  three  went  into  partnership,  in  a  firm 
named  "  RUSSEL  AND  BROTHERS."  Strictly  honest  and 
upright  in  all  their  dealings,  they  had  been  eminently 
prosperous  in  their  business ;  and  year  after  year  found 
them  able  to  enlarge  their  operations,  and  to  make  im- 
mense profits. 

But  in  the  midst  of  their  prosperity,  death  had  sud- 
denly entered  this  united  family,  cutting  off  in  the  prime 
of  life,  the  one  who,  to  human  appearances,  could  least 
be  spared.  By  the  dreadful  scourge  of  cholera,  Mr. 
George  Russel  and  his  lovely  wife  were  hurried  to  the 
grave,  in  the  short  space  of  twenty-eight  hours,  leaving 
his  vast  property  to  his  only  daughter,  Laura  Russel, 
then  a  child  of  two  years.  Mr.  William  Russel,  the 
Bubjtfct  of  this  history,  was,  at  the  time  of  his  brother's 
death,  on  the  eve  of  marriage,  and  took  the  little  orphan 
into  his  own  family,  where  she  had  ever  been  treated  as 
a.  dear  child. 

About  three  years  previous  to  the  time  of  our  story, 
the  younger  brother,  Mr.  Henry  Russel,  was  called  to  his 
heavenly  home,  —  having  lost  his  wife,  by  consumption, 
about  eighteen  months  before.  His  brother  was  by  his 
side  till  the  last,  willingly  consenting  to  be  a  father  and  a 
guardian  to  the  children  thus  bereft  of  their  parents,  at  a 
time  when  they  most  needed  a  father's  care  and  a 
mother's  watchfulness.  Standing  by  the  bedside  of  his 
beloved  brother,  and  witnessing  the  dying  grace  merci- 
fully bestowed  to  enable  him  to  triumph  over  liis  last 
great  enemy,  Mr.  William  Russel  seemed  to  catch  a 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  197 

glimpse  of  the  home  of  bliss  provided  for  those  who  live, 
by  faith  on  the  Son  of  God ;  and  he  devoted  himself, 
more  fully  and  unreservedly,  to  his  Master's  service. 

Mr.  Henry  Russel  left  two  children,  William,  named 
for  his  uncle,  a  young  man  of  twenty,  and  Helen,  a  miss 
of  thirteen.  William  was  then  a  senior  in  college. 
More  recently  he  had  entered  a  law-school,  and  had  now 
but  one  year  more  of  study  before  he  would  be  admitted 
to  the  bar.  Helen  was,  at  the  time  of  her  father's  de- 
cease, a  young  girl,  so  volatile  and  unreflecting,  that  it 
heeded  all  the  unceasing  affection  and  care  her  aunt  was 
ready  to  bestow,  to  keep  her  from  violating  every  rule  of 
propriety.  But  Helen  was  so  full  of  fun,  so  cheerful  and 
good-tempered,  so  ready  to  acknowledge  her  faults,  that 
she  had  been  an  inmate  of  her  uncle's  family  but  a 
few  weeks  before  she  was  a  favorite  with  every  one 
in  the  house.  Helen  was  handsome,  and  she  knew 
it.  Her  mother  had  been  a  lady  of  uncommon  charms 
of  mind  and  person,  and  her  children  greatly  resembled 
her. 

Clara  and  Marianne  were  the  only  surviving  children 
of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  Russel ;  they  having  buried 
two  sons,  and  a  daughter,  in  infancy.  Clara  was  their 
fourth  child,  and  was  now  seventeen.  Marianne  was 
fifteen,  a  few  months  younger  than  her  lively  cousin, 
Helen. 

Nearly  a  year  after  William  and  his  sister  had  become 
members  of  then:  uncle's  family,  an  aunt  of  Mr.  Russel 
came  to  the  north  to  pass  the  summer,  a  great  part  of 
the  time  being  spent  in  the  happy  home  of  her  nephew. 
She  took  a  lively  interest  in  her  young  nieces,  and  as 
17* 


198  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

the  time  approached  for  her  to  return  to  the  south,  she 
strongly  urged  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Russel  to  consent  to  allow 
Laura  and  Clara  to  return  with  her  to  Charleston,  for 
the  winter.  Though  well  aware  that  Mrs.  Norton  would 
exercise  a  most  beneficial  influence  over  their  children, 
yet  they  could  not  at  first  think  of  parting  with  them. 
Clara  was  engrossed  with  her  studies ;  and  Laura  was 
unwilling  to  leave  her  friends.  But,  at  length,  they 
were  prevailed  upon  to  consent  that  Laura  should  go ; 
and  the  increasing  infirmities  of  Mrs.  Norton,  together 
with  the  great  delight  she  found  in  the  society  and 
affection  of  her  niece,  had  so  far  prevented  her  from 
returning  to  her  home  for  any  length  of  time ;  though 
she  had  made  them  a  hasty  visit,  when  travelling  to 
the  north,  during  the  previous  summer. 

It  was  in  the  second  winter  of  her  residence  at 
the  South,  that  Laura  had  formed  the  acquaintance  of 
Thomas  Warren,  who  was  passing  a  part  of  the  winter 
in  Charleston.  From  her  first  interview  with  him,  she 
had  been  uncommonly  pleased  with  his  noble,  manly 
deportment,  and  the  perfect  ease  and  polish  of  his  man- 
ners, because  she  had  seen  that  these  were  united  to, 
and  produced  by,  strong  religious  principles. 

Mr.  Warren,  too,  when  introduced  to  Laura  by  a 
young  lady,  who,  at  the  request  of  his  college  friend, 
Mr.  Stanwood,  had  accompanied  him  from  the  north, 
and  who  had  been  a  former  schoolmate  of  Miss  Russel, 
thought  he  had  never  beheld  a  more  interesting  coun- 
tenance united  to  a  modest,  unassuming  appearance.  On 
further  acquaintance,  he  became  convinced  that  Miss 
Russel  possessed  every  qualification  which  he  could  ask 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  199 

for  in  a  wife ;  nay,  more,  he  confessed  that  she  fully 
answered  to  the  ideal,  he  had  formed,  of  a  perfect  lady. 
Every  hour  that  he  passed  in  her  society  increased  the 
favorable  impression,  until  he  was  obliged  to  acknowl- 
edge to  himself  that  he  was  decidedly  in  love ;  and  he 
lost  no  time  in  paying  to  Miss  Russel  those  nameless 
attentions  which  he  hoped  would  interest  her  in  his 
favor. 

Mrs.  Norton,  who  felt  a  mother's  interest  for  her  lovely 
niece,  soon  perceived  the  design  of  Mr.  Warren,  and 
took  pains  to  make  inquiries  among  her  friends  as  to 
the  private  character  of  the  suitor ;  for,  though  he  had 
never,  in  wrords,  spoken  of  his  love,  yet  he  took  no  pains 
to  conceal  his  attachment.  Her  inquiries  were  answered 
so  satisfactorily  that  she  had  no  hesitation  in  allowing 
the  acquaintance  to  proceed ;  and  so  far  the  course  of 
love  had  appeared  true,  and  had  "  run  smoothly  !  " 

But  at  length  a  change  took  place.  From  being  a 
daily  visitor  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Norton,  Mr.  Warren 
only  made  a  hurried  call  once  in  a  week  or  two  ;  and,  if 
he  accidentally  met  them  at  any  place  of  public  resort, 
his  manner  was  so  embarrassed  and  reserved  as  to  cause 
great  pain  to  the  heart  of  the  gentle  Laura,  and,  even 
indignation,  on  the  part  of  her  aunt.  After  every  such 
meeting  the  sensitive  girl  retired  to  her  room,  and  passed 
hours  in  tears,  —  while  she  vainly  tried  to  account,  by 
any  appearance  of  caprice  in  her  own  conduct,  for  the 
unaccountable  change  in  her  friend.  All  her  woman's 
pride  was  roused,  that  she  could  not  banish  from  her 
thoughts  the  image  of  a  suitor  who  had  basely  treated 
her.  Every  mark  of  affection  he  had  exhibited,  every 


200  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND   MARRIAGES  J 

tender  word  and  look  were  carefully  reviewed;  and 
Laura,  though  disposed  to  reflect  upon  herself,  and 
to  exonerate  him,  could  but  feel  that  he  had  given  her 
reason  to  think  he  had  wished  to  gain  her  affections, 
and  that  he  had  certainly  acted  a  part  unworthy  of  a 
gentleman,  and  wholly  inconsistent  with  the  charactei 
of  a  Christian.  This  conviction  produced  a  reserve  in 
her  manner,  whenever  she  met  with  the  subject  of  her 
constant  thoughts,  so  that  for  several  weeks  nothing 
more  than  the  most  common-place  sentiments  passed 
between  them.  Still,  she  often  met  his  eye,  fixed  upon 
her  with  such  sadness,  almost  amounting  to  anguish, 
that  the  blush  burned  upon  her  cheeks,  and  her  heart 
thrilled  with  the  thought,  "  Notwithstanding  his  strange 
conduct,  he  does  still  love  me  ! " 

Miss  Carlton,  her  schoolmate,  had  for  a  few  weeks 
been  visiting  a  friend,  who  lived  out  of  the  city.  She 
had  become  very  intimate  with  Mr.  Warren,  having 
heard  much  of  him  from  Mr.  Stanwood,  the  gentleman 
to  whom  she  was  to  be  married  on  her  return  home. 
Immediately  upon  her  arrival  in  Charleston,  she  called 
upon  Laura,  and  soon  introduced  the  name  of  her 
friend  Mr.  Warren,  and  was  at  no  small  loss  to  con- 
ceive the  cause  of  the  change  which  passed  over  the 
countenance  of  her  companion. 

Mrs.  Norton,  too,  spoke  with  great  reserve,  saying, 
"we  have  been  disappointed  in  the  character  of  Mr. 
Warren,  and  even  his  name  produces  unpleasant  emo- 
tions." 

"  What  can  he  have  done  ?  "  inquired  Miss  Carlton,  in 
surprise.  "  I  have  known  him  for  many  years,  and  con- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  201 

sidered  him  a  pattern  of  all  that  is  good  and  refined 
Then  he  thought  so  very  highly  of  you,  Laura." 

It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  Laura  could  keep 
back  her  tears ;  but  making  a  great  effort  at  calmness, 
she  replied,  "  let  us  drop  this  subject,  dear  Mary ;  it  is 
plain  he  thinks  so  no  longer.  He  has  almost  entirely 
dropped  our  acquaintance." 

"  Astonishing ! "  she  answered  thoughtfully,  "  what 
can  it  mean  ? "  and  she  fell  into  a  reverie  so  profound 
that  her  friend  left  her,  and  walked  to  the  window. 

After  a  short  pause,  she  added,  "  If  this,  indeed,  be 
true,  he  is  no  longer  worthy  the  name  of  gentleman,  or 
of  being  a  son  of  his  excellent  parents  ;  there  is  nothing, 
in  my  opinion,  so  mean  as  coquetry  in  a  man,"  and 
she  took  a  hasty,  though  affectionate  leave  of  her  friend. 

Two  evenings  later,  however,  Miss  Carlton  called  in 
company  with  Mr.  Warren,  and  though  at  first  Laura 
was  cold,  almost  haughty,  in  her  manner  toward  him, 
yet,  through  the  influence  of  Mary,  the  evening  passed 
off  pleasantly,  and  the  hurried  remark  of  her  friend,  at 
parting,  brought  hope  once  more  to  her  affectionate  heart. 
"  Laura,"  she  whispered,  as  her  friend  was  assisting  her 
to  adjust  her  shawl,  "  there  is  some  mistake.  He  speaks 
of  you  with  the  greatest  enthusiasm,  and  says  he  never 
met  a  young  lady  whose  character  was  so  near  perfection." 

The  suddenness  of  this  remark  so  disconcerted  poor 
Laura,  that  when  she  gave  Mr.  Warren  her  hand,  to  bid 
him  good  night,  and  met  his  ardent  look  of  admiration, 
her  eyes  fell,  and  she  became  most  painfully  embarrassed. 
The  night  was  passed  by  her  in  vain  attempts  to  solve 
the  mystery. 


202  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND     MARRIAGES; 

Scarcely  had  she  left  the  breakfast  table  before  a  mag- 
nificent bouquet  was  brought  to  the  door,  with  a  card 
attached  to  it,  upon  which  was  merely  written,  "  For 
Miss  Laura  Russel,  with  the  kindest  wishes  of  a  friend." 
The  heart  of  Laura  told  her  quickly  who  was  the  donor, 
and  she  carried  it  to  her  room,  without  even  mentioning 
to  her  aunt  its  reception.  In  the  course  of  the  following 
days  she  met  Mr.  Warren  several  times,  either  in  the 
street,  or  in  society.  He  was  always  accompanied  by 
her  friend  Mary,  who  had  a  most  mysterious  air,  which 
she  in  vain  endeavored  to  conceal.  Even  a  less  partial 
observer  than  Mrs.  Norton  might  have  noticed  in  his 
sudden  brightening  of  countenance,  and  the  eagerness 
with  which  Mr.  Warren  started  forward  to  meet  Laura, 
that  he  felt  no  ordinary  interest  in  her  welfare.  Neither 
could  they  fail  to  perceive  in  the  shadow,  which,  after 
an  instant,  passed  over  lu's  face,  or  the  reserve  with 
which  his  second  thought  caused  him  to  dissemble  his 
real  feelings,  that  there  was  a  drawback  which  prevented 
his  appearing  in  the  character  of  a  lover,  however 
ardently  he  wished  to  do  so. 

It  was  nearly  a  week  since  she  had  received  the  bou- 
quet, and  Laura  was  in  her  own  apartment  selecting 
such  of  the  flowers  as  had  begun  to  wither,  and  putting 
them  in  a  book  to  press.  She  had  just  returned  the  card 
accompanying  them,  to  her^  portfolio,  when  a  servant 
knocked  at  the  door,  and  brought  her  another  bouquet, 
with  a  letter.  It  would  be  foolish  to  try  to  conceal  the 
fact  that  Laura's  heart  bounded  as  she  glanced  at  the 
address,  and  saw  that  it  was  in  the  handwriting  of  the 
card,  which  she  felt  sure  came  from  Mr.  Warren.  She 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  203 

however  thanked  the  servant,  and  asked  who  brought 
them. 

"  A  colored  man,  from  one  of  the  hotels,"  was  the 
reply. 

Laura  had  never  received  a  communication  from  Mr. 
Warren,  and  her  heart  beat  quickly,  and  then  almost 
stopped,  as  she  thought,  "  the  mystery  will  be  explained." 
She  longed  to  open  it;  and  yet,  with  an  inconsistency 
which  she  could  not  reconcile  even  to  herself,  she  dreaded 
to  do  so.  She  arose,  put  the  flowers  in  a  vase  of  fresh 
water,  and  set  them  upon  the  mantel,  wondering  if  the 
note  would  explain  to  her  satisfaction  all  the  contra- 
rieties of  his  conduct  toward  herself.  At  length  she  sat 
down,  and,  breaking  the  envelop,  read  as  follows : — 

"  To  Miss  Laura  Russel. 

"  How  strangely  to  my  throbbing  heart  look  those 
cold  words,  that  chilling  address  ;  yet  I  have  schooled  my- 
self to  my  disappointment,  and  must  bear  it  as  best  I 
can.  I  am  about  to  leave  Charleston,  the  place  where  I 
have  known  more  of  joy,  and  more  of  bitter  sorrow,  than 
I  ever  knew  before.  Justice  to  you,  and  justice  to  my- 
self, require  an  explanation  of  my  variable  conduct  to- 
ward you.  I  think,  my  dear,  aye,  too  dear,  Miss  Russel, 
you  must  have  seen,  from  our  first  interview,  how  much 
I  admired  your  person  and  character.  I  have  some- 
times, of  late,  been  called  heartless,  or  rather,  wanting  in 
those  finer  traits  of  character,  which  make  a  man  suscep- 
tible to  love.  I  have  sometimes  feared  this  were  too 
true.  But  it  is  not  so.  In  the  agony  of  the  past  week, 
I  have  almost  wished  my  heart  had  never  awoke  to  the 


204  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

bliss  of  loving  with  my  whole  soul,  one  who  was  every 
way  worthy  of  such  devotion.  I  saw  you,  and  had  not 
been  many  times  in  your  society,  before  I  acknowledged 
I  could  ask  no  more  in  a  companion  for  life ;  and  that 
if  I  could  win  your  hand  I  should  be  the  happiest  of  mor- 
tals. Excuse  me  for  the  seeming  presumption,  when  I 
say,  that  your  manner  was  so  kind,  I  felt  encouraged  to 
hope  that  I  was  not  displeasing  to  you.  All  this  time  I 
had  an  impression  that  you  were  dependent  upon  Mrs. 
Norton  ;  and  visions  of  a  happy  home,  where  my  ardent 
affection  should  make  up  for  the  loss  of  greater  elegance 
in  style  and  manner  of  living,  began  to  dawn  upon  me. 

"  I  was  on  my  way  to  visit  you,  determined  to  end  my 
suspense  by  a  frank  avowal  of  my  affection,  when  two 
young  gentlemen,  with  whom  I  am  slightly  acquainted, 
overtook  me  just  as  Mrs.  Norton's  carriage,  containing 
you  and  herself,  dashed  past  us. 

" '  Look  there,  Warren,'  said  one  of  them.  '  Did  you 
see  that  elegant  girl?  She's  handsome,  accomplished, 
and  very  agreeable ;  but  what  is  worth  more  than  all  the 
rest,  she's  rich  as  Croesus.' 

"  '  I  think  you  are  mistaken  about  her  wealth,'  I  re- 
plied, '  she  is  dependent,  as  I  understand,  upon  her  aunt, 
who  will,  no  doubt,  leave  her  some  property.' 

"  The  gentleman  who  had  not  spoken,  responded,  '  all 
very  well  for  you  to  try  to  make  us  believe  you  think 
so,  my  dear  fellow.  But  for  all  that  she  is  a  great 
heiress,  and  you  know  it.  Much  joy  I  wish  you  in  your 
love  match.' 

"  My  blood  boiled  with  indignation  ;  but  I  hastily  left 
them,  and  returned  to  my  rooms.  I  will  not  attempt  to 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  205 

describe  to  you  the  feeling  of  keen  disappointment  I 
then  experienced,  nor  the  anguish  of  heart  I  felt  (when, 
on  farther  inquiry,  I  found  what  I  had  heard  was  true,) 
before  I  could  resolve  to  tear  myself  from  your  presence. 
It  has  been  a  principle  instiUed  into  my  mind  from  child-' 
hood,  never  to  seek  a  connection  with  one  possessed  of 
more  wealth  than  I  could  offer  in  return.  For  the  sake 
of  winning  your  love,  I  would  forfeit  all  my  hitherto 
cherished  hopes  of  making  for  myself  a  name  and  a 
place  among  men ;  but  I  cannot  give  up  my  self-res- 
pect. You  would  despise  me  should  I  address  you  thus. 
Therefore,  though  every  feeling  of  my  heart  rebels, 
I  must  leave  you.  This  is  now  my  only  honorable 
course. 

"  I  need  not  assure  you,  that  a  line  from  yourself,  say- 
ing that  I  have  not  entirely  forfeited  your  esteem,  and 
that  you  will  sometimes  pity  your  unfortunate  frier d, 
would  give  me  greater  pleasure  than  anything  I  have 
now  a  right  to  expect. 

"THOMAS  WARREN." 

Poor  Laura !  She  had  sometr  aes  paused  as  if  unable 
to  proceed,  while  the  hot  tears  had  fallen  thickly  upon 
the  written  sheet.  "  Oh,  what,  would  I  give,"  she  ex- 
claimed passionately,  when  she  had  finished,  "  if  I  could 
write  and  tell  him  I  had  not  a  cent  in  the  world.  I  will 
give  it  away.  Oh !  what  can  I  do  ?  "  and  she  burst  into 
a  flood  of  tears.  She  wept  so  long  that  she  brought  on  a 
violent  headache,  and  when  her  aunt  sent  up  for  her  to  go 
to  dinner,  she  asked  to  be  excused,  and  to  have  a  cup  of 
tea  sent  to  her  room. 

18 


206  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES', 

Mrs.  Norton  went  to  her  niece,  but  finding  the  door 
locked,  she  retired  to  her  own  apartment 

About  an  hour  later,  Miss  Carlton  called  to  beg  Laura 
to  accompany  her  to  do  some  shopping. 

Mrs.  Norton,  who  received  her,  said  that  Laura  was 
not  well,  and  had  kept  her  room  through  the  day. 

Mary  turned  quickly  to  the  window  and  began  to  talk, 
in  a  hurried  manner,  of  a  gay  equipage  which  happened 
to  be  passing ;  but,  after  a  moment  said  she  would  go  to 
Laura's  room.  It  was  not,  however,  until  she  had 
knocked  repeatedly,  that  she  gained  admittance.  She 
found  her  friend  apparently  calm,  but  with  such  a 
mournful  expression  that  Mary's  eyes  involuntarily 
filled  with  tears.  After  sitting  by  her  side,  she  at 
length  prevailed  upon  the  poor  girl  to  tell  her  the  cause 
of  her  grief,  when  Laura  silently  put  Mr.  Warren's 
letter  into  her  hand. 

Mary  took  it  eagerly;  though  her  face  grew  almost 
scarlet  as  she  read,  or  rather  glanced,  at  its  contents. 
"  Why,  Laura,"  she  urged,  "  I  do  n't  see  anything  here 
that  need  distress  you  so  much.  I  am  sure  I  like  him 
the  better,  for  feeling  so." 

"  But  he  is  going  away,"  sobbed  Laura,  in  such 
distress  that  Mary,  though  her  eyes  were  humid  with 
tears,  burst  into  a  merry  laugh. 

"  Excuse  me,  dear,"  said  she,  kissing  her  tenderly ; 
but  I  really  could  n't  help  it ;  I  've  grown  very  nervous 
lately,"  she  added  apologetically,  as  she  saw  Laura 
seemed  grieved  at  her  mirth.  «  But  Laura,  really,  you 
take  it  too  much  to  heart,  —  write  him  an  answer,  tell- 
ing him  he  can't  get  off  in  that  way ;  he  has  won  your 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  207 

affections,  and  he  '11  be  obliged  to  take  you.  That  will 
bring  him  to." 

Laura  looked  up  quickly  and  smiled  through  her  tears, 
at  Mary's  words.  "  Are  you  in  earnest,"  she  asked,  "  do 
you  think  I  ought  to  answer  him  ?  " 

"  In  earnest !  Oh !  no,  of  course  not !  You  wish  him  to 
leave  Charleston,  thinking  that  you  deem  him  a  scoundrel 

for  trying  to  woo  the  richest  heiress  in ,  when  he  is 

only  junior  partner  of  a  house  in  New  York.  He  de- 
serves to  be  punished  for  such  unwarrantable  pre- 
sumption." 

Laura  started  to  her  feet.  "  Stop,  Mary,  I  wont  hear 
you  talk  so  ;  you  know  I  don't  think  any  such  thing.  I 
would  give  all  I  have  in  the  world  for  such  affection  as 
he  has  shown  in  that  letter.  So  noble  and  generous  a 
heart  cannot  be  bought  with  money." 

Poor  Mary !  She  had,  indeed,  grown  nervous.  She 
could  not  meet  the  indignant  glances  of  her  friend ;  and 
she  rapidly  walked  to  the  mantel,  and  began  admiring 
the  flowers.  "  If  that  is  your  real  feeling,"  she  at  length 
said,  with  emphasis,  "  you  are  bound  in  honor  to  tell 
him  so." 

"  But  how  can  I?  It  would  be  unmaidenly  to  tell  him 
that  I  love  him,  when  he  has  never  asked  me  to  do  so." 

"I  am  sure,  every  line  of  that  letter  breathes  the 
deepest  affection,"  said  Mary,  again  averting  her  face. 

I  need  not  detail  all  the  conversation  that  followed ; 
but  will  turn  to  Mr.  Warren,  who,  the  morning  follow- 
ing the  reception  of  this  note,  was  walking  his  room, 
with  hasty  strides,  trying  by  the  violence  of  his  exercise 
to  lessen  the  agitation  under  which  he  was  laboring. 


208  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

At  length  he  stopped.  "  But  ought  I  not,"  he  solilo- 
quized, "  to  see  her  before  I  leave  ?  Would  it  not  be 
dishonorable  in  me  to  allow  her  to  remain  in  doubt  as 
to  my  feelings  ?  Ought  I  not  to  tell  her  how  dearly, 
how  truly  I  love  her,  and  the  reason  I  cannot  offer  her 
my  hand  ?  No,  I  dare  not  trust  myself ;  and,  I  am  too 
proud  to  sue  for  her  hand,  when,  with  it,  her  husband 
will  obtain  so  much  paltry  gold  !  " 

At  that  moment,  he  heard  a  knock  at  his  door,  and  on 
opening  it,  he  took  a  sealed  envelop  from  the  servant.  It 
was  superscribed  in  a  delicate  hand,  and  he  hastily  opened 
it,  wondering  not  a  little  who  could  thus  have  honored 
him  with  an  epistle.  But  his  astonishment  was  increased 
ten  fold  when,  glancing  at  the  signature,  he  read,  "  From 
your  true  friend,  Laura  Russel."  He  threw  himself  into 
a  chair,  and  with  suspended  breath,  hastily  read  its  con- 
tents, which  were  briefly  these  :  — 

«Mr.  Warren,— 

"  Your  note,  received  this  morning,  I  will  not  conceal 
from  you,  has  caused  me  much  pain  and  embarrassment 
Though  Providence  has  bestowed  upon  me  a  large  share 
of  the  things  of  this  world,  —  yet,  I  have  never  valued 
wealth,  at  all,  in  comparison  with  the  affections  of  the 
heart ;  and,  indeed,  I  have  often  shrunk  from  the  respon- 
sibility, every  Christian  must  feel,  as  the  steward  of 
Heaven's  bounty  to  the  destitute. 

"  My  dear  friend,  we  profess  to  be  Christians  ;  —  you 
say  you  love  me, — why  should  so  trivial  a  circumstance 
have  given  you  so  much  distress  ?  I  shall  hope  for  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  you  before  you  leave  Charleston. 

"  With  sentiments  of  high  esteem  and  respect, 
"  I  am  your  true  friend, 

"  LAURA  RUSSEL." 


OR,  THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED  LIFE.  209 

Mr.  Warren  sank  back  in  his  chair,  breathless  with 
astonishment.  He  put  his  hand  to  his  head  to  convince 
himself  he  was  not  in  a  dream!  "  What  can  this  mean? 
She  received  my  note  this  morning?  I  have  never 
written  her !  Some  one  has  imposed  upon  her  by  an 
anonymous  letter ;  or  rather,  a  forged  one,  signed  by  my 
name.  How  can  I  relate  to  her  the  humiliating  circum- 
stance that  she  has  replied  to  that  which  has  not  been 
written  ?  Shame  and  disgrace  meet  me  whichever  way 
I  turn." 

He  walked  the  room,  with  knitted  brows  and  agitated 
mien.  But  reflection  brought  other  thoughts,  and  he 
determined  to  go  that  very  evening  to  see  Miss  Russel. 
He  rang  for  his  servant,  and  despatched  a  note  request- 
ing a  private  interview  with  that  lady ;  then  ordered  his 
horse  and  started  off  for  a  vigorous  ride,  to  compose  his 
excited  feelings  preparatory  to  his  call  in  the  evening. 

18* 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

THE  YOUNG  BRIDE. 

MR.  WARREN  consulted  his  watch,  which  he  had  done 
very  frequently  for  the  last  hour,  and  exhibited  signs  of 
impatience  on  finding  there  was  still  twenty -five  minutes 
before  the  time  he  had  appointed  for  his  interview  with 
Miss  Russel,  when  a  knock  at  the  door  arrested  his 
attention.  He  hastily  opened  it,  muttering  impatiently : 
"  I  shall  plead  a  positive  engagement,  whoever  it  may 
be."  But  it  was  only  his  servant  with  another  note, 
which  he  took  mechanically,  and  resumed  his  seat.  The 
contents  did  not  wholly  surprise  him.  It  was  from  Miss 
Carlton,  and  ran  thus  :  — 

"Mr.  Warren,— 

"  I  write  to  beg  you  to  call  upon  me,  before  you  go 
this  evening  to  Mrs.  Norton's.  I  have  something  of 
importance  to  communicate.  I  earnestly  beseech  you 
not  to  fail,  as  you  value  the  peace  of  my  dear  friend, 
Miss  Russel. 

"  In  great  haste,  yours,  sincerely, 

"  MARY  CARLTON." 

During  his  ride  in  the  forenoon,  Mr.  Warren  had  had 
time  to  collect  his  thoughts;  and  had  come  to  the  con- 
clusion, from  the  purport  of  Laura's  letter,  that  Mary 
(210) 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  211 

must  have  been  the  one  who  had  dared  address  her  in 
his  name.  He  called  to  mind  the  earnest  conversation 
he  had  held  with  that  lady  on  her  return  to  Charleston 
the  week  before,  and  that  he  had  then  told  her  his  views 
and  feelings  in  regard  to  marrying  an  heiress.  How  well 
he  remembered  the  remark  she  made  at  parting.  "  Mr. 
Warren,  you  are  misled  by  a  false  pride ;  and  will  sac- 
rifice to  it  not  only  your  own  happiness,  but  the  happi- 
ness of  one  whom  you  have  given  every  reason  to  sup- 
pose you  valued  higher  than  a  friend." 

When  he  had  read  the  note,  he  responded  at  once  to 
her  summons,  and  soon  found  himself  at  the  house  of 
the  lady  whom  Miss  Carlton  was  visiting.  He  was 
shown  into  the  parlor,  where  he  found  her  impatiently 
awaiting  him.  Her  countenance  bore  the  traces  of  re- 
cent tears ;  but  she  eagerly  approached  him,  holding  out 
her  hand.  "  Thank  you,"  she  said,  with  emphasis,  "  for 
coming  to  me." 

He  led  her  to  a  seat,  where  she  was  painfully  embar- 
rassed in  her  attempt  to  introduce  the  subject  upon 
which  she  wished  to  speak.  At  length  she  said  hesitat- 
ingly, "  Mr.  Warren,  I  don't  know  what  you  will  think 
of  me,  but  indeed  I  did  it  from  the  best  motives,"  and 
she  ended  in  a  passionate  fit  of  weeping. 

For  a  moment  the  gentleman  was  entirely  at  a  loss 
for  words.  He  thought  her  very  culpable  for  the  liberty 
she  had  taken  with  his  name ;  but  he  was  much  dis- 
tressed to  see  her  so  deeply  moved.  Then  he  did  not 
doubt  that  she  had,  as  she  said,  hoped  it  would  bring 
matters  to  a  crisis.  At  length  he  replied :  "  I  will  not 
pretend  to  misunderstand  your  meaning.  You  wrote  a 


212  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

letter  to  Miss  Russel  in  my  name.     I  received  an  answer 
this  morning.     Did  you  see  the  answer?" 

"  I  did.  Indeed  she  would  not  have  written  unless  I 
had  urged  her  to  do  so.  I  also  sent  her  two  bouquets 
which  she  ascribes  to  you,  as  the  penmanship  was  the 
same.  But,"  she  added,  much  excited,  "  she  was  suffer- 
ing keenly  from  your  neglect,  never  having  dreamed  of 
the  cause,  and  I  thought — I  thought  —  perhaps  this 
would  set  it  all  right.  I  feared  your  pride  would  pre- 
vent what  I  knew  you  were  in  honor  bound  to  do,  after 
the  marked  attentions  you  have  paid  her." 

"  And  so,"  resumed  Mr.  Warren,  with  a  faint  attempt 
to  smile,  "  you  undertook  the  duty  for  me.  Have  you  a 
copy  of  the  document?"  he  added,  in  a  tone  which  was 
slightly  bitter. 

Mary  eagerly  put  a  folded  letter  in  his  hand.  "  It  was 
copied  verbatim  et  literatim,"  she  replied,  blushing 
deeply. 

He  took  it  and  stood  under  the  chandelier  to  read, 
while  she  sat  upon  the  sofa  with  her  face  concealed  in 
her  handkerchief.  His  countenance  exhibited  deep  feel- 
ing as  he  read ;  but  he  quietly  folded  the  letter,  put  it  in 
his  pocket,  and  returned  to  his  seat  on  the  sofa. 

"  Miss  Carlton,"  he  said,  respectfully  taking  her  hand, 
"  I  must  acknowledge  your  letter  is  very  honorable  to 
me  5  I  can  hardly  conceive  how  you  were  so  well  ac- 
quainted with  my  feelings." 

Mary  looked  up  eagerly  at  the  earnestness  of  his  tone, 
and  replied :  "  I  only  wrote  what  you  have  from  time  to 
time  told  me.  I  knew  you  loved  her,  and  I  thought  that 
she  respected  you  until .  When  I  went  there  yes- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  213 

terday,  after  she  received  it,  I  found  that  she' was  much 
distressed  to  know  what  she  ought  to  do.  I  will  take  all 
the  blame  of  her  answering,  if  you  think  she  did  wrong, 
for  I  convinced  her  that  you  would  think  she  agreed  with 
you,  that  it  was  from  mercenary  motives  you  had  tried 
to  gain  her  affections.  I  may  as  well  confess  all,"  she 
added,  hiding  her  face  for  one  moment  in  her  hands.  "  I 
wrote  an  answer  which  I  did  my  best  to  prevail  upon 
her  to  copy.  But  she  is  so  very  discreet  and  modest  she 
would  not,  but  wrote  instead  of  it,  the  one  you  received, 
which  I  considered  very  cold,  saying  you  had  never  asked 
her  to  love  you." 

Mr.  Warren  made  no  answer  except  by  an  ardent 
press  of  one  of  the  small  hands  lying  near  him.  Whether 
he  meant  it  as  an  expression  of  his  forgiveness,  or  was 
actuated  to  this  sudden  movement  by  the  encouraging 
nature  of 'her  conversation,  has  never  transpired. 

Mary  went  on.  "  I  did  not  stop  to  reflect  upon  the 
step  I  was  taking,  and  when  I  saw  Laura  weeping  over 
the  letter,  I  urged  her  to  answer  it.  But  I  have  been 
sorry  ever  since,  that  I  did  not  tell  her  at  once  1  was  the 
author.  I  walked  my  room  all  night,  fearing  the  worst 
consequences  from  my  rash  action,  and  went  early  this 
morning  to  confess  it  to  her.  But  it  was  too  late.  The 
answer  had  been  sent,  just  as  I  had  seen  it  last  night, 
and  I  was  really  afraid  the  mortification  would  kill  her  if 
I  told  her  then,"  and  Mary  shuddered  as  she  spoke. 
"  Oh ! "  she  exclaimed,  starting  to  her  feet,  "  You  will 
not  tell  her,  Mr.  Warren.  Promise  me  you  will  not." 

"  I  have  no  present  intention  of  doing  so,"  he  replied ; 
"  but  it  is  time  for  me  to  go." 


214  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

On  his  way  to  Mrs.  Norton's  he  reflected  that  if  he 
allowed  Miss  Russel  to  consider  the  letter  from  him,  why 

he  was  bound  in  honor  to "  but "  he  thought  after  an 

abrupt  pause,  "  I  must  be  wholly  governed  by  circum- 
stances." So  after  stopping  near  a  lamp-post  long 
enough  for  a  second  perusal  of  the  epistle,  he  walked 
hastily  on  to  meet  his  appointment. 

When  he  left  Mrs.  Norton's,  though  it  was  at  a  late 
hour,  his  heart  was  so  full  of  happiness  that  he  felt  he 
could  not  be  confined  within  the  four  walls  of  his  room 
at  the  hotel,  and  wandered  off  at  a  rapid  pace  until  he 
was  out  of  the  city,  where  he  strolled  in  the  bright  moon- 
light until  near  the  dawn.  It  was  wonderful  what  had  be- 
come of  all  his  fixed  principles,  his  solemn  determination 
never  to  marry  an  heiress. 

Laura  pursued  a  much  wiser  course.  Her  heart, 
which  for  quite  a  number  of  weeks  had  been  wandering 
like  Noah's  dove,  in  search  of  a  resting-place,  had  now 
found  its  home,  and  she  was  at  peace.  She  therefore 
retired  to  her  bed,  and  from  the  sweet  smile  upon  her  lip, 
one  might  reasonably  suppose  she  was  living  over  and 
over  in  her  dreams  the  bliss  of  the  last  few  hours. 

Early  the  next  morning,  Mr.  Warren  called  upon  Miss 
Carlton.  "  I  feared,"  he  said,  "  that  I  did  not  sufficiently 
thank  you  last  evening  for  your  kind  interest  in  my  wel- 
fare." 

Mary  blushed  deeply,  as  she  replied  archly,  "  I  see  that 
all  has  happened  just  as  I  hoped  and  expected ;  but  oh ! 
worlds  would  not  tempt  me  to  do  the  like  again." 

"  I  confess,"  he  replied,  with  a  smile,  "  it  is  rather  a 
dangerous  game  to  play,  but  in  my  case  —  at  any  rate," 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  215 

he  added,  slightly  blushing,  "you  remember  the  old 
adage,  '  all's  well,  that  ends  well.'  " 

As  Clara  has  long  ago  finished  reading  the  letter  to 
her  aunt,  we  wih1  turn  back  to  the  commencement  of  our 
story.  It  was  now  the  first  day  of  June,  the  wedding 
was  to  be  on  the  twenty-second,  and  soon  ah1  were  busy 
with  preparations  for  the  happy  event. 

Mrs.  Norton  and  Laura  had  left  Charleston  the  mid- 
dle of  May,  and  the  same  letter  which  had  announced 
Laura's  approaching  marriage,  had  contained  an  earnest 
request  that  one  of  her  nieces  might  take  the  vacant  place 
in  her  family  the  coming  winter. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Russel  had  written  immediately  to 
Laura.  They  could  not  consent  that  her  marriage  cere- 
mony should  be  performed  in  any  other  place  except  in 
her  own  home,  and  among  the  friends  who  had  known 
and  loved  her  from  her  infancy.  Laura  had  gratefully 
accepted  so  kind  and  cordial  an  invitation,  and  was  now 

on  her  way  to  S .  She  stated  in  her  letter,  which 

had  caused  so  much  joy,  that  it  was  their  intention  to 
leave  for  Niagara,  immediately  after  the  wedding. 

Clara,  Helen  and  Marianne  had  gained  the  ready  con- 
sent of  their  parents  that  they  should  be  bridemaids,  as 
Laura  had  requested.  Helen  wrote  immediately  to  her 
brother  William,  stating  the  time  of  the  wedding,  and 
telling  him  he  must  allow  nothing  to  prevent  his  being 
present  on  so  interesting  an  occasion.  In  a  postscript 
Helen  added,  that  of  course  he  would  stand  with  her,  and 
that  she  had  made  all  her  arrangements  to  that  effect. 

The  young  student  read  the  letter  from  his  affec- 
tionate sister  with  a  smile,  and  said  aloud  as  he  tossed 


216  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

the  epistle  upon  the  table,  "  how  Helen  likes  to  tease 
me!" 


It  was  a  bright  morning  in  June.  The  birds  were  fill- 
ing the  air  with  their  joyous  melody.  The  dew  was  still 
kissing  the  flowers,  but  Clara  Russel,  little  heeding  the 
dampness  of  the  grass,  wandered  to  the  end  of  the  orch- 
ard back  of  the  house  in  search  of  some  beautiful  white 
rose-buds.  "  Laura,  dear  Laura,  is  expected  to-day ;  and 
kind  aunt  Norton !  How  glad  I  shall  be  to  see  them ! " 
She  had  come  out,  while  all  were  still  sleeping,  to  gather 
Laura's  favorite  roses,  for  the  decoration  of  her  room. 
Clara  was  an  artless,  ingenuous  girl.  She  was  not  hand- 
some ;  that  is,  her  features  were  far  from  regular ;  but 
her  skin  was  of  transparent  whiteness,  her  mouth  was 
rather  large,  but  displayed  a  regular  set  of  teeth  of  pearly 
whiteness.  Her  eyes !  Oh !  when  one  looked  into  them 
they  forgot  everything  else,  there  was  such  a  world  of 
light  and  soul  beaming  in  those  large  hazel  orbs.  Clara's 
countenance  varied  with  every  thought  and  emotion. 
The  color  was  constantly  coming  and  going  in  her  cheeks, 
telling  to  observers  many  a  tale  which  she  was  striving 
to  keep  close  in  her  heart  of  hearts. 

She  was  very  happy  on  this  pleasant  June  morning. 
No  doubt  the  arrival  of  aunt  Norton  and  cousin  Laura 
were  sufficient  cause  to  send  the  warm  crimson  blood  to 
beautify  her  cheeks.  The  expected  arrival  of  Helen's 
brother,  was  so  far  from  being  an  uncommon  event,  that 
it  of  course  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  joy  which  kept 
gushing  up  from  her  heart,  and  causing  her  to  sing  for 
very  gladness.  She  was  standing  part  way  up  on  the 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  217 

wall,  trying  to  reach  a  beautiful  bud,  which  was  almost 
beyond  her  reach,  at  the  same  time  that  she  was  war- 
bling the  familiar  song  of  "  Home,  sweet  home", — when 
she  was  suddenly  startled,  by  hearing  a  fine  base  accom- 
paniment, close  by  her  side.  She  turned  quickly,  to  be 
caught  in  the  arms  of  her  cousin  William.  She  had 
quite  forgotten  her  exalted  station,  and  would  have  fallen, 
had  he  not  prevented  her.  Mr.  Russel,  junior,  earnestly 
begged  her  to  go  on  with  her  singing ;  asserting  that  he 
had  been  drawn  from  the  carriage-road  to  the  house, 
by  the  carolling  of  what,  he  thought,  must  have  been  a 
bird  of  great  value,  and  that  he  had  taken  the  pains  to 
\vade  through  the  wet  grass  in  order  to  secure  the  prize. 
But  Clara,  hastily  picking  up  the  roses  which  in  her 
fall  had  dropped  from  her  basket,  declared  that  she  did 
not  feel  like  singing,  and  walked  demurely  back  to  the 
house,  expressing  neither  surprise  nor  joy  at  his  sudden 
appearance. 

"  Why,  Clara,"  said  William,  at  length,  «  I  expected 
you  would  wonder  where  I  came  from  so  early  in  the 
morning,  and  you  have  not  even  said  you  are  glad  to 
see  me ! " 

Clara  suddenly  raised  her  eyes,  looked  him  full  in  the 
face  for  one  instant ;  but  probably  the  morning  light  was 
too  strong,  for  she  as  suddenly  dropped  them  again. 
Whaiever  William  gleaned  from  this  earnest  gaze,  he 
appeared  satisfied,  and  walked  quietly  by  her  side.  But 
just  as  they  reached  the  house  he  said,  in  a  low  tone  : 

-"I  started  from  M at  fo,ur  o'clock,  and  rode  over 

before  breakfast,  to  tell  you  that,  —  to  ask  you  to  stand 
with  me  at  Laura's  wedding.     Will  you,  dear  Clara  ?  " 
19 


218  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

The  color  mounted  to  her  brow,  as  she  answered, 
"  If  Helen  will  consent,  for  she  anticipates  that  honor." 

«  Who,  then,  did  you  expect  as  your  partner  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Warren  has  a  friend  who  is  to  accompany  him," 
she  replied,  evasively. 

At  noon  Laura  arrived,  and  was  welcomed  amid  great 
rejoicings.  But  Mr.  Russel  observed  with  anxiety  that 
his  aunt  had  failed  in  strength,  since  he  had  seen  her  the 
previous  summer  ;  and  with  pain  acknowledged  to  him- 
self that  it  would,  indeed,  be  hard  for  her  to  return  alone 
to  Charleston,  in  the  fall. 

It  was  very  fortunate  for  the  young  ladies  that  they 
had  waited  to  consult  Laura's  taste  in  the  selection  of 
their  dresses ;  for  she  had  brought  each  of  them  a  full 
suit,  as  nearly  like  her  own  as  Aunt  Norton  would  allow, 
—  she  having  insisted  on  presenting  Laura  with  her 
bridal  trousseau. 

After  the  evening  repast,  when  the  family  were  seated 
in  the  parlor  for  evening  prayer,  Clara  earnestly  begged 
Laura  to  resume  her  seat  at  the  organ.  This,  she  at 
length  consented  to  do;  but  was  so  much  overcome 
with  associations  of  the  past,  together  with  the  thought 
that  she  was  soon  to  leave  these  dear  friends,  that  she 
was  obliged  abruptly  to  leave  her  place  at  the  instru- 
ment, motioning  to  her  cousin  to  go  on  with  the  accom- 
paniment. But  when  her  uncle,  who  had  been  to  her  a 
kind  father,  began  to  pray  for  her,  and  for  him  who  was 
so  soon  to  be  united  to  her  in  the  most  endearing  of 
bonds,  —  though  much  affected,  yet  her  excited  feelings 
were  calmed  and  soothed.  She  wondered  how  lie  could 
have  so  well  understood  all  her  wants  and  desires,  as  he 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  219 

went  on  to  thank  God  for  restoring  her  to  the  home  of 
her  childhood,  and  to  pray  that  He,  who  had  watched 
over  her  in  youth,  when  bereft  so  suddenly  of  her  earthly 
parents,  who  had  called  her  by  his  grace,  and  had  adopted 
her  into  His  family,  who  had  now,  in  his  Providence, 
provided  for  her  a  partner,  that  feared  God,  and  that  was 
already  bound  to  her  in  the  more  enduring  tie  of  Chris- 
tian friendship,  —  might  still  watch  over  her  and  bless 
her,  helping  her  always  to  keep  in  mind  that,  as  her 
blessings  were  great,  so,  too,  were  her  responsibilities  ; 
that  her  wealth  would  be  a  joy  or  a  curse,  just  as  she 
used  it.  Mr.  Russel  remembered,  also,  the  kind  friend 
who  had  been  restored  to  them,  though  in  impaired 
health,  and  prayed,  that  as  her  day  was,  so  her  strength 
might  be. 

When  they  arose,  all  were  softened  and  subdued  ; 
while  Laura,  after  having  given  her  dear  uncle  an  affec- 
tionate embrace,  conducted  Mrs.  Norton  to  her  chamber; 
and  Clara  accompanied  her.  William  begged  his  sister 
to  go  out  with  him  for  a  walk,  when  he  succeeded  in 
procuring  from  the  lively  girl  a  promise  that  she  would 
not  tease  Clara  about  any  attention  he  might  think 
proper  to  pay  her,  saying :  "  I  have  invited  a  friend  of 
mine  to  be  your  partner  on  the  occasion." 

But  Helen  pretended  to  be  much  disappointed,  and 
said,  "  Clara  was  very  unkind  to  try  to  wean  the  affections 
of  her  only  brother  from  herself ;  and  at  this  particular 
time,  when  she  was  aware  that  she  had  set  her  heart  up- 
on appearing  with  him." 

"  Nonsense,  Helen,"  said  William,  half  vexed,  though 
he  could  not  avoid  laughing  at  the  airs  she  assumed. 


220  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

"  You  know  you  don't  care  a  fig  about  it,  and  then  you 
know  Clara  is  very  far  from  asking  such  a  favor.  You 
will  be  much  better  pleased  with  the  attention  of  Mr. 
Stanwood,  only  you'll  have  to  curb  your  spirits.  He  is 
a  married  man." 

"  Then  I  won't  stand  with  him  at  all.  I'll  choose  Mr. 
Seymour  if  Miss  Warren  does  not  come,  which  Laura 
says  is  uncertain,"  and  Helen  looked  archly  in  her  broth- 
er's face  as  they  came  on  to  the  piazza,  where  the  lights 
shone  through  the  windows. 

"  Remember,"  said  William,  detaining  her  as  they  were 
entering  the  house,  "  you  have  promised  not  to  joke  her 
about  me  at  all." 

"  I  only  say  I'll  do  my  best  to  avoid  it,"  and  she 
laughed  gayly. 

Another  week  passed  in  this  happy  home,  happy  be- 
cause though  ever  cheerful,  yet  they  acknowledged  their 
heavenly  Father  as  the  author  of  all  their  mercies,  and 
endeavored  to  conform  their  lives  to  the  standard  he  has 
given.  Mr.  Warren  arrived  with  his  sister  Bessie  and 
Mr.  Seymour  leaving  his  parents  and  younger  brother 
and  sister  to  follow  the  next  day. 

Helen  had  claimed  frequent  praise  from  her  brother 
during  the  past  week  for  her  discreet  behavior,  though 
her  conduct  had  been  far  from  satisfactory  to  him.  She 
was  continually  making  blunders,  followed  by  the  most 
formal  apologies,  which  were  equally  trying  to  bear ;  for 
instance,  she  would  address  Clara  as  "  my  sweet  sister, 
my  beloved  sister,"  and  when  Clara  blushed  painfully 
she  would  say,  "  do  excuse  me,  coz.  I  wonder  how  I 
could  have  made  such  a  mistake,  when  of  course  the  na- 


OK,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  221 

ture  of  the  case  forbids  such  a  relation,"  and  this  always 
took  place  when  William  was  present  to  profit  by  the 
blushes. 

All  this  rendered  the  poor  girl  so  shy,  that  it  was  next 
to  impossible  for  him  to  see  her,  except  in  the  presence 
of  the  family,  and  he  was  obliged  to  content  himself  by 
the  thought  that  he  would  pay  Helen  in  her  own  coin,  if 
she  should  ever  fall  in  love. 

Mr.  Stanwood  arrived  with  the  friends  of  Mr.  Warren 
the  evening  of  the  twenty-first,  and  the  wedding  was  to 
take  place  on  the  following  day.  It  had  been  Laura's 
wish  to  be  married  in  the  morning,  and  proceed  on  her 
journey,  but  she  had  at  length  consented  to  comply  with 
the  earnest  wishes  of  her  cousins  to  postpone  it  until 
evening.  Mr.  Warren  had  been  noticed  to  be  very  busi- 
ly engaged  with  Laura's  uncle  and  guardian  for  a  day 
or  two,  and  at  length  Mr.  Stanwood  was  called  into  the 
study  to  assist  with  his  legal  knowledge.  On  the  morn- 
ing of  her  wedding,  Mr.  Russel  summoned  her  to  his 
study,  where  she  found  her  aunt,  her  lover,  and  Mr.  Stan- 
wood.  She  was  rather  startled  at  the  seriousness  of 
their  appearance ;  but  her  uncle  said  kindly,  "  I  have  been 
rendering  an  account  of  my  stewardship,  and  Mr.  War- 
ren has  at  length  consented  to  take  the  care  of  your  prop- 
erty, but  he  has  insisted  (contrary  to  what  I  was  sure 
would  be  your  wishes,)  upon  settling  every  cent  of  youi 
fortune  upon  yourself." 

"  I  cannot  consent  to  such  an  arrangement,"  exclaimed 
Laura,  much  agitated  by  the  remembrance  of  a  letter  she 
had  once  received. 

"  My  dear  Laura,"  said  her  betrothed,  advancing  and 
19* 


222  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES', 

taking  her  hand,  though  he  was  very  pale.  "  Do  not  dis- 
tress me  by  speaking  thus.  Much  as  I  regard  your 
wishes,  it  is  absolutely  impossible  for  me  to  consent  to 
have  it  otherwise.  My  feelings  on  this  subject  have 
never  changed,"  he  added,  in  a  voice  intended  only  for 
her  ear. 

Laura  said  no  more,  but  with  a  sudden  determination 
to  prevail  upon  her  cousin  William  to  have  the  whole 
matter  reversed  after  her  marriage,  she  asked  her  uncle  if 
that  were  all,  left  the  room,  and  summoned  William  to 
follow  her  to  the  parlor.  After  being  closeted  with  her 
for  an  hour,  he  came  out  holding  checks  signed  by  her  to 
her  bankers  to  the  amount  of  several  thousand  dollars,  to 
be  given  by  him  to  various  objects  of  public  and  private 
charity. 

The  hour  of  eight  had  been  appointed  for  the  wedding. 
The  guests  had  arrived.  Reverend  Mr.  Warren,  who 
was  to  perform  the  ceremony,  with  his  wife,  Edward  and 
Gracie,  and  beside  these  a  large  number  of  neighbors  and 
friends,  were  now  seated  awaiting  the  appearance  of  the 
bride  and  bridegroom  with  their  attendants.  A  slight 
movement  in  the  hall,  announces  that  they  are  near  at 
hand.  The  clergyman  arises  from  his  seat  and  sets  his 
chair  one  side,  to  allow  the  bridal  company  to  pass  him. 
The  young  attorney  enters  first  with  Clara,  who  blushes 
as  if  she  were  to  be  the  bride ;  then  Mr.  Seymour  and 
Bessie,  Edward  Warren  and  Helen,  followed  by  Mr. 
Stanwood  and  the  timid  Marianne.  After  these  had 
taken  their  places,  Mr.  Thomas  Warren,  and  Miss  Laura 
Russel  advance  to  the  vacant  space  which  had  been  left 
for  them,  when  the  good  minister  invoked  a  blessing 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  223 

upon  the  intended  union.  He  then  in  a  few  words  ex- 
plained the  nature  of  the  ordinance,  the  interest  taken  in 
it  by  our  Saviour,  who  performed  his  first  miracle  at  the 
wedding  of  Cana  in  Galilee,  and  with  deep  emotion  he 
administered  the  oath  to  them,  by  which  they  bound 
themselves  to  love  and  cherish  each  other,  and  to  per- 
form all  the  duties  of  the  matrimonial  relation  according 
to  the  Holy  Scriptures.  Pie  then  pronounced  them  hus- 
band and  wife.  The  bride  was  exceedingly  pale,  and  it 
was  only  by  a  great  effort  that  she  restrained  herself 
from  tears  ;  but  at  the  close  she  glanced  for  one  instant 
into  the  face  so  lovingly  bent  over  her,  a  thrill  of  joy 
passed  through  her  frame  that  she  had  henceforth  one 
heart  which  beat  only  for  her,  and  that  heart  was  so  reg- 
ulated by  the  sacred  principles  of  religion,  that  she  could 
confide  in  it  with  perfect  safety.  Her  friends  eagerly 
gathered  around  to  express  then-  congratulations  and 
kind  wishes  to  the  newly  married  pair.  Among  the  first 
who  approached,  was  Mr.  Warren's  mother,  leaning  upon 
the  arm  of  her  new  friend  and  relative,  Mr.  Russel. 
With  moistened  eyes,  she  expressed  the  pleasure  it  gave 
her  to  call  Laura,  "  my  daughter,"  and  after  a  cordial 
motherly  embrace,  both  of  the  bride  and  groom,  she  was 
led  back  to  her  seat.  Mrs.  Norton,  too,  was  much  af- 
fected as  she  realized  that  her  dear  niece  now  belonged 
to  another.  But  the  though't,  "  I  shall  soon  be  called  to 
my  heavenly  home,"  soothed  the  grief  she  would  other- 
wise have  felt  at  the  painful  separation.  There  was  a 
sweet  dignity  in  the  manner  of  the  young  bride,  as  she 
received  the  kind  wishes  of  her  friends,  which  won  the 
admiration  of  all.  Her  husband,  as  he  gazed  with  pride 


224  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

upon  her,  drew  her  arm  closer  within  his,  as  he  thought, 
"  she  is  my  own." 

During  the  remainder  of  the  evening  cake  and  fruits 
of  all  varieties  were  passed  to  the  guests,  and  the  younger 
people  made  themselves  very  merry  upon  the  occasion. 
Mrs.  Thomas  Warren  was  repeated  so  often  that  Laura 
was  likely  to  become  accustomed  to  the  title.  Helen 
whispered  in  her  ear, "  don't  you  think  that  Mrs.  Edward 
Warren  is  quite  as  pretty  a  name  ?  "  She  then  attacked 
Clara,  but  William  had  found  an  opportunity  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  to  say  a  few  words  to  his  cousin,  with 
the  full  permission  of  her  father  and  mother,  which  hung 
like  a  charm  about  her,  and  prevented  her  from  any  far- 
ther annoyance.  So  Helen  in  dismay  turned  to  her  part- 
ner to  impart  her  ill  success. 

The  evening,  like  all  other  evenings,  came  at  length  to 
a  close,  and  Laura  experienced  a  feeling  of  sadness,  as 
one  friend  after  another  approached  to  bid  her  adieu. 

The  next  morning  she  started  for  the  Falls  of  Niagara, 
and  for  a  tour  to  the  West,  after  which  she  was  to  return 

for  a  few  days  to  S ,  before  she  settled  in  her  new 

home,  in  New  York  city.  On  her  way  she  visited  Mrs. 
Stanvvood,  who  one  evening  said  gravely,  "  My  dear 
Laura,  I  have  had  some  thought  of  publishing  a  series 
of  letters,  as  a  help  to  gentlemen  in  making  matrimonial 
proposals  to  ladies.  I  Rave  known  the  happiness 
of  some  gentlemen  to  be  almost  destroyed,  merely 
for  the  want  of  some  proper  guide  of  the  kind  I 
mention.  If  you  have  any  of  my  documents  in  your 
possession,  I  shall  be  extremely  obliged  to  you  for  the 
use  of  them.  Mr.  Stanwood  gazed  at  his  wife,  and 


OR,  THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  225 

then  at  her  friends,  in  amazement,  while  Laura  put 
her  hand  to  her  head  and  wondered  if  Mary  were  not 
beside  herself.  Mr.  Warren,  with  a  deprecatory  shake 
of  the  head,  advanced  quickly  to  his  wife,  and  seated 
himself  by  her  side. 

"  What  can  you  mean,  Mary  ?  "  she  said  at  length. 

Mary  threw  herself  on  the  carpet,  before  her  friend, 
saying,  "  dearest,  will  you  promise  to  forgive  me,  because 
if  you  wont,  Mr.  Stanwood,  who  is  a  magistrate,  will 
divorce  you  at  once." 

Laura  seized  her  husband's  hand,  whom  she  perceived 
was  much  agitated,  and  said  hurriedly,  "  tell  me, 
Thomas,  is  she  crazy  ?  " 

"  Do  you  remember,"  asked  Mary,  hiding  her  face, 
which  was  covered  with  blushes,  "  that  when  we  were  in 
Charleston,  I  one  day,  after  repeated  knockings,  gained 
admittance  to  your  room,  and  found  you  weeping  over  a 
letter,  which  I  had  some  difficulty  in  prevailing  upon  you 
to  answer  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Laura,  turning  very  pale,  and  taking  her 
hand  from  her  husband. 

"  I  wrote  it,  dear  Laura,  don't  feel  so,"  she  added, 
really  frightened,  as  she  glanced  up  to  meet  Laura's 
gaze. 

But  the  mortification  had  been  too  great  for  the  sen- 
sitive bride,  and  she  wept  bitterly.  She  gently  put  away 
her  friend,  and  even  her  husband,  when  he  attempted 
to  soothe  her,  sobbing,  "  it  was  cruel  to  deceive  me  so." 
Mr.  Stanwood  left  the  room,  motioning  to  his  wife  to  ac- 
company him,  when  she,  for  the  first  time,  related  the 
circumstances  connected  with  their  betrothal.  He  told 


226  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES. 

her  he  hoped  she  would  never  again  be  guilty  of  such 
an  action,  and  she  shed  many  tears  at  the  thought  of  her 
weeping  friend. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  Laura  was  composed  enough 
to  hear  the  explanation  which  her  husband  was  so  anx- 
ious to  impart.  But  when  he  informed  her  Mary  had 
only  written  what  he  had  told  her  were  his  sentiments, 
and  that  before  he  went  to  her  on  the  eventful  evening 
which  had  been  one  of  the  happiest  of  his  life,  he  had 
received  Mary's  confession,  and  had  acknowledged  to 
her  that  she  had  rightly  represented  him  to  her  friend. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

THE  TOURIST. 

WHEN  Henry  Wells  reached  London  he  had  faith- 
fully kept  the  promise  he  had  made  to  his  friend,  Mrs. 
Gordon,  at  parting,  and  read  every  day  in  the  silver- 
clasped  Bible  she  had  given  him.  At  first  he  only  read 
because  of  that  promise,  and  because  of  the  pleasure  he 
experienced  in  doing  what  he  knew  she  would  approve ; 
but  the  more  he  read  the  more  interested  he  became,  un- 
til he  passed  an  hour  or  two  every  day  during  his  voy- 
age, in  the  perusal  of  its  sacred  pages.  He  had,  when  a 
child,  read  and  re-read  the  historical  portions  of  the  Scrip- 
tures ;  but  now  he  perused  with  delight  the  powerful 
diction  and  pathos  of  Job,  the  sublime  visions  of  Isaiah, 
and  the  thrilling  eloquence  of  Paul,  and  his  soul  was 
moved  within  him.  The  desire  to  be  a  Christian,  and 
to  follow  the  precepts  of  the  holy  book,  became  stronger 
and  stronger  every  day.  But  on  his  arrival  in  London, 
so  many  new  and  pleasing  objects  occupied  his  attention, 
that  he  had  little  time  except  for  a  hurried  performance 
of  his  pledge,  just  as  he  was  retiring  to  rest. 

On  the  second  Sabbath  of  his  stay  in  London,  the 

celebrated  Dr.  was  to  preach.  Notice  of  this 

had  been  published  in  many  of  the  papers ;  and  Henry, 
among  the  rest,  determined  to  hear  him.  The  sermon 
was  the  means  of  producing  a  deep  conviction  of  his 

(227) 


228  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

guilt  as  a  sinner,  before  God,  and  now  again  he  turned 
to  the  sacred  pages  for  comfort  and  peace.  Here  he 
read,  as  if  for  the  first  time,  the  story  of  Christ's  suffer- 
ings and  death,  and  here  too  the  gracious  spirit  applied  this 
sacred  truth  to  his  mind,  and  the  Saviour  became  to  him 
light  and  salvation,  the  chief  among  ten  thousand  and 
the  one  altogether  lovely. 

After  remaining  for  a  week  longer  in  London,  he  de- 
parted for  the  Continent,  and  at  the  expiration  of  a  few 
months,  having  visited  France  and  Italy,  he  returned, 
early  in  the  fall,  to  Germany,  for  the  winter.  It  was 
his  object  to  acquire  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the  lan- 
guage before  he  returned  to  his  studies  in  the  law. 
Whenever,  of  late,  his  thoughts  turned  to  his  chosen 
profession,  he  was  restless  and  dissatisfied,  and  at  length, 
after  weeks  and  months  of  doubt  and  uncertainty,  de- 
termined, if  his  father  would  consent,  to  relinquish  that 
profession,  and  by  a  protracted  stay  in  Europe,  to  pre- 
pare himself  for  a  Professorship  of  Languages.  But  af- 
ter a  short  time  he  was  equally  dissatisfied  with  this 
project,  and  early  the  following  summer,  with  the  con- 
sent of  his  parents  started  for  Scotland,  and  joined  the 
University  in  Edinburgh,  with  which  Dr.  Chalmers  was 
associated.  Here  he  remained  three  years,  then  re- 
turned to  Germany,  and  passed  one  year  more,  after 
which  he  visited  the  other  principal  countries  of  Europe, 
Egypt,  and  the  Holy  Land,  and  then  he  went  back  to  Ed- 
inburgh, where  he  began  to  preach.  He  received  an  earn- 
est invitation  to  settle  in  a  neighboring  town,  but  his  heart 
was  in  his  native  land,  and  he  began  to  yearn  for  home. 
Taking  with  him  letters  from  his  Professors,  in  Edin- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  229 

burgh,  and  other  gentlemen  who  had  become  much  inter- 
ested in  him,  he  left  Liverpool  early  in  1836,  and  after  a 
short  passage  landed  in  New  York,  having  been  absent 
more  than  six  years.  By  his  particular  request  no  one  out 
of  his  own  family  were  aware  that  he  had  changed  his 
profession  ;  but  as  the  fact  would  now  transpire,  and  as 
he  had  several  hours  before  the  boat  would  leave  for  his 
native  place,  he  determined  to  present  a  letter  of  intro- 
duction to  a  clergyman  in  the  city.  This  call  resulted  in 
a  promise  from  him  to  supply,  for  a  few  Sabbaths,  a  vacant 
pulpit  in  that  place ;  his  engagement  to  commence  the 
next  Sabbath  but  one.  Had  he  known  his  old  townsman 
and  friend,  Thomas  Warren,  occupied  one  of  the  magnifi- 
cent houses  he  passed  in  his  walk  back  to  the  hotel,  or 
that  his  friend  Susy  had,  for  nearly  two  years,  been  a 
resident  in  New  York,  he  might  not  have  been  so  impa- 
tient to  leave.  True,  in  the  years  which  had  passed,  he 
had  schooled  his  heart  until  he  believed  not  a  trace  re- 
mained of  his  old  passion  for  her,  but  still  she  would 
always  be  to  him  a  dear  friend.  He  knew,  from  his  cor- 
respondence with  his  sister,  that  Mr.  Gordon  had  died 
suddenly  about  two  years  before,  and  he  knew  also  of 
her  grief  for  him ;  but  of  late,  Eleanor,  who  was  about  to 
form  new  ties,  had  said  less  of  her  old  friends,  especially 
as  Thomas  and  Susan  resided  at  a  distance,  so  that  ho 
only  knew,  in  general,  that  Thomas  had  become  a  mer- 
chant, and  had  married  a  wealthy  lady,  and  that  Susan 
was  living  with  her  aunt.  The  visit  to  his  home  re- 
vived many  associations,  especially  those  relating  to 
the  parsonage,  where  he  had  never  been  since  his  sad 
20 


230  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

interview  with  Susan,  which  materially  changed  the 
course  of  his  life. 

He  opened  the  gate  and  passed  up  the  walk,  where  in 
childhood  he  had  so  often  played,  and  lifted  the  Lion's 
head  upon  the  brass  knocker.  The  door  was  opened  by 
a  tall  and  elegant  lady,  in  whom  he  found  it  difficult  to 
recognize  his  former  friend  Bessie.  Without  making 
himself  known,  he  asked  for  her  father,  and  was  intro- 
duced as  a  stranger  into  the  parlor,  where  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Warren  were  sitting.  He  advanced  quickly  to  them, 
holding  out  his  hand,  when  the  joyful  recognition  took 
place.  / 

"  It  is  Henry !  our  own  Henry ! "  said  the  good  man, 
clasping  both  his  hands,  while  Mrs.  Warren  gave  him  a 
motherly  embrace.  Bessie  then  came  in  blushing  to 
welcome  him,  and  with  a  glance  reminded  her  father 
that  there  was  a  gentleman  present  who  had  not  been 
introduced.  Mr.  Warren  then  smilingly  presented  Mr. 
Seymour  as  a  young  gentleman  of  the  same  profession 
as  himself.  Mr.  Wells  returned  the  smile,  but  made  no 
reply.  Edward  and  Gracie  were  then  called,  at  his  re- 
quest, and  after  half  an  hour  in  general  conversation,  dur- 
ing which  he  learned  that  Mrs.  Gordon  as  well  as  her 
brother  lived  in  New  York,  and  inferred  that  Mr.  Sey- 
mour was  trying  to  woo  his  old  friend  Bessie,  he  re- 
quested a  few  minutes'  conversation  with  Mr.  Warren  in 
the  study.  He  then  communicated  the  fact  that  he  had 
become  a  clergyman,  and  showed  him  his  letters  from 
Dr.  Chalmers  and  others.  Mr.  Warren  was  very  much 
affected,  and  said  earnestly  as  he  grasped  him  by  the 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OP    WEDDED    LIFE.  231 

hand,  "  God  bless  you,  my  young  friend  ;  you  have  cho- 
sen wisely,  and  I  rejoice  in  your  decision." 

Henry  then  promised,  though  with  some  natural  reluc- 
tance, to  preach  the  next  Sabbath  in  his  native  place. 
He  knew  this  was  the  wish  of  his  parents,  and  that  he 
ought  to  gratify  them,  but  he  knew  also  that  to  him  it 
would  be  a  trying  day. 

Through  the  remainder  of  the  week  it  was  noised 
about,  that  the  son  of  Squire  Wells  had  returned  from 
abroad,  had  become  a  minister,  and  that  they  would  have 
an  opportunity  to  hear  him  on  the  next  Sabbath,  so  that 
it  is  no  great  wonder  that  all  the  stories  of  his  boyish 
pranks,  and  youthful  frolics  were  revived,  or  that  at  an 
early  hour  the  church  was  crowded  by  persons  eager  to 
recognize  in  the  polished  traveller,  the  youth  they  had 
known  and  loved  so  well. 

It  was  one  of  June's,  most  lovely  days,  and  in  that  calm 
and  quiet  retreat  where  all  nature  seemed  to  unite  in 
praise  to  its  Maker,  the  young  man  who  had  so  lately 
taken  upon  himself  the  holy  vows,  felt  his  soul  stirred  to 
its  inmost  depths,  as  he  realized  the  sacredness  of  his 
office.  Here  apart  from  the  busy  cares  of  the  world,  he 
seemed  to  hear  the  voice  of  God,  speaking  directly  to 
him,  and  he  drank  deep  draughts  of  spiritual  knowledge 
as  he  listened  to  the  sacred  words,  "  My  grace  shall  be 
sufficient  for  thee.'  "  Lo  I  am  with  you  alway,  even  to 
the  end  of  the  world."  "  Great  is  your  reward  in 
heaven." 

It  was  with  such  feelings  and  meditations  as  these,  that 
at  the  appointed  time  the  young  minister  accompanied 


232  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

his  parents  to  the  church,  followed  them  up  the  aisle, 
waited  at  the  door  of  the  pew  until  they  were  seated, 
then  ascended  the  stairs  to  the  pulpit.  Mr.  Warren  was 
already  there,  and  soon  the  services  commenced.  In  a 
low  but  distinct  voice,  every  word  of  which  could  be 
heard  even  at  the  extremity  of  the  house,  Mr.  Wells  in- 
voked the  divine  blessing.  Mr.  Warren  then,  at  his 
request,  read  the  hymn,  and  conducted  the  other  devo- 
tional services,  after  which,  he  arose  for  the  delivery  of 
his  discourse.  If  some  wondered  that  the  young  man, 
after  all  his  foreign  education  and  travels,  should  have 
nothing  more  in  manner  to  distinguish  him,  there  were 
many  who,  with  tearful  eyes  and  earnest  hearts,  thanked 
God  for  raising  up,  even  from  their  midst,  a  man  mighty 
for  God ;  a  man  who,  in  his  zeal  for  his  Master,  forgot 
himself.  It  was  with  such  feelings  that  Mr.  Warren 
listened  to  his  young  friend  ;  and  he  prayed  that  his  life 
might  be  spared  to  become  a  bulw.ark  upon  the  walls  of 
Zion. 

On  Thursday,  of  the  same  week,  he  again  started  for 
New  York,  and  called  immediately  upon  Thomas,  now 
one  of  the  merchant  princes  of  that  great  city.  Here  he 
was  introduced  to  Laura,  who  delighted  him  by  her 
simplicity  and  frankness.  He  congratulated  his  friend 
upon  his  good  fortune,  who  replied,  "  When  ybu  know 
her  better,  you  can  understand  how  much  I  ought 
to  be  congratulated."  Mr.  Wells  was  however  disap- 
pointed to  learn  that  Susan,  with  her  aunt  and  children, 
had  left  the  city  for  a  few  days ;  but  Thomas  assured 
him  they  would  probably  return  the  first  of  the  week. 

In  reply  to  the  question  proposed  by  his  friend,  whether 


OR,  THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED  LIFE.  233 

he  had  not  brought  home  a  wife  with  him,  he  said, 
briefly,  "  I  have  never  loved  but  once."  The  answer  was 
given  in  such  a  tone  as  to  preclude  all  farther  conversa- 
tion upon  that  subject. 

When  Henry  rose  to  take  his  leave,  both  Thomas  and 
his  wife  insisted  that  he  should  take  lodgings  with  them, 
while  he  remained  in  the  city.  Indeed,  for  a  long  time, 
they  would  take  no  denial ;  but,  at  length,  reluctantly 
consented  that  he  should  remain  at  the  hotel  until  the 
first  of  the  week. 

On  the  following  Sabbath,  as  Mr.  Wells  sat  in  the 
pulpit  while  the  congregation  were  assembling,  his  eye 
fell  upon  a  pew  about  half  way  up  the  middle  aisle,  in 
which  were  seated  a  lovely  group — a  young  mother,  with 
two  beautiful  little  girls,  while  between  her  and  them 
was  an  active  boy  with  black  hair  curling  up  from  his 
white  brow,  and  keen  black  eyes  entirely  unlike  either 
of  the  others.  A  middle  aged  man  occupied  the  seat  at 
the  head  of  the  pew,  and  as  the  mother  had  some  diffi- 
culty in  keeping  the  child  quiet,  he  beckoned  to  the  boy 
to  sit  with  him.  When  he  perceived  this  action,  the 
preacher  tried  to  avert  his  eyes  from  them,  and  took  up 
the  hymn  book  to  divert  his  thoughts  into  another  chan- 
nel. But  no ;  another  minute,  and  his  eyes  are  again 
riveted  upon  that  fair  young  face,  about  which  there  is 
something  which  sends  the  blood  wildly  through  his 
heart.  This  time  the  lady  looks  up,  glances  at  the 
speaker,  her  eye  meets  his,  she  starts  forward,  her  coloi  • 
fades  from  her  cheeks  and  lips.  The  recognition  is 
mutual.  For  one  moment  he  gazes  at  her,  and  then 
presses  his  hand  upon  his  eyes  as  if  to  shut  out  the 
20* 


234  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

sight  Ah!  in  that  single  moment  the  labor  of  years 
was  undone !  He  awoke  to  the  fact  that  Susan  Gordon 
was  still  dearer  to  him  than  everything  but  the  precious 
truths  of  the  Bible  she  had  placed  in  his  hands. 

To  the  young  widow,  this  sudden  meeting  was  pain- 
ful as  well  as  pleasing.  To  see  him  at  all  would  have 
been  a  surprise,  —  but  to  see  him  in  the  pulpit !  —  she 
could  yet  hardly  realize  or  understand  her  own  emotion. 
When  they  arose  for  prayer,  her  feelings  overpowered  her; 
and  while  the  choir  were  singing  she  wept,  until  she 
feared  she  should  be  obliged  to  leave  the  house.  "  Can 
it  be,"  she  asked  herself,  "  that  my  prayers  have  been 
answered  ?  " 

Seeing  his  mother  in  tears,  Frederic  slipped  from  the 
cushion  and  crept  softly  to  her  side,  where,  taking  his 
small  handkerchief,  he  attempted  to  wipe  her  eyes,  as  he 
often  did  at  home.  This  kind  act  Henry  noticed,  and  it 
almost  overcame  him ;  but  he  firmly  fixed  his  mind  upon 
his  subject,  and  at  length  regained  his  self-possession. 
Mrs.  Gordon,  too,  as  her  little  son,  who  supposed  that 
she  was  weeping  over  his  misconduct,  whispered 
"  Please,  mamma,  don't  cry,  I  will  sit  still  and  be  a 
good  boy,"  —  endeavored  to  remember  that  she  was  in 
the  house  of  God,  and  engaged  in  his  worship.  The 
sermon  was  from  these  words,  "  Cast  thy  bread  upon  the 
waters,  and  thou  shalt  find  it  after  many  days."  He 
opened  with  a  brief  account  of  the  manner  of  casting 
bread,  or  sowing  rice  upon  ground  covered  with  water, 
as  is  the  custom  in  some  Oriental  countries.  After  this, 
they  find  a  plentiful  harvest.  He  then  applied  it  to 
sowing  good  seed  in  the  hearts  of  men,  even  if  the  soil 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  235 

appear  ever  so  unpromising,  the  seed  sown  may  find  a 
lodgment  there,  and  in  God's  own  good  time  spring  up, 
and  bear  fruit  to  His  glory. 

Upon  this  part  of  his  subject,  he  gave  several  illustra- 
tions in  point ;  one  was  this :  "  A  man  was  one  day 
walking  in  the  streets  of  London,  when  he  observed  a 
child,  apparently  about  five  years  of  age,  endeavoring 
to  scrape  some  filthy  offal  from  the  gutter,  with  which  to 
satisfy  his  earnest  craving  for  food.  Just  as  the  gentle- 
man was  opposite  him  the  boy  began  to  cry,  because 
he  could  not  find  sufficient  to  gratify  his  hunger.  The 
noise  arrested  the  attention  of  the  gentleman,  who  was 
at  that  very  time  engaged  in  one  of  the  Sabbath  schools, 
for  the  reformation  of  such  boys.  He  stopped,  ascertained 
the  cause  of  the  child's  grief,  and,  at  length,  by  the 
promise  of  food,  persuaded  the  filthy  boy  to  accompany 
him  home.  This  was  on  Sabbath  morning.  The  boy 
was  washed,  fed  and  clothed,  and  in  the  afternoon  taken 
to  the  Sabbath  school,  where,  with  open  mouth,  he 
listened  to  the  words  of  the  teacher,  as  she  repeated  the 
lesson  for  the  day :  '  Thou  shalt  not  take  the  name  of 
the  Lord  thy  God  in  vain ;  for  the  Lord  will  not  hold 
him  guiltless  that  taketh  his  name  in  vain : '  —  which 
command  having  been  explained  to  him  as  coming  from 
God,  seemed  to  his  young  mind  wholly  inconsistent 
with  the  lessons,  both  of  precept  and  example,  which  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  receiving  from  his  parents,  and 
which,  therefore,  made  a  deep  impression  upon  him. 

"  For  four  successive  weeks  the  boy  found  his  way  to 
the  house  of  the  kind  gentleman,  where  he  was  treated 
in  the  same  manner  as  on  his  first  visit ;  returning  after 


236  THE    FIRST    AND    THE     SECOND    MARRIAGES', 

service  to  leave  his  clothes.  But  after  this  nothing  more 
was  seen  of  him.  Whether  his  parents  had  removed 
from  the  neighborhood  and  the  child  could  not  find  the 
way  back,  or  for  what  reasons  he  stayed  away  they 
never  knew. 

"  But  more  than  thirty  years  afterwards  as  this  gentle- 
man, now  in  the  decline  of  life,  was  sitting  in  his  parlor, 
a  stranger  was  announced  as  wishing  to  see  him.  A 
tall,  noble-looking  man  entered,  his  countenance  some- 
what embrowned,  but  with  an  expression  of  firmness 
and  resolution  stamped  in  every  feature.  He  ap- 
proached and  held  out  his  hand,  saying  frankly,  'I 
presume  you  do  not  recognize  me ;  nevertheless,  I  have 
had  the  pleasure  of  enjoying  your  hospitality,  and  that 
for  several  weeks  in  succession.' 

"  The  old  gentleman  gazed  earnestly  at  him,  but 
shook  his  head  as  he  replied,  '  I  have  no  recollection 
of  your  face.' 

"  Exhibiting  deep  emotion,  the  stranger  inquired, '  Do 
you  remember,  sir,  a  poor  boy,  whom,  more  than  thirty 
years  ago  you  picked  from  the  gutter,  and  after  feeding 
and  clothing  him  took  him  with  you  to  the  Sabbath 
school  ?  I  am  that  boy,  sir,  and,  under  God,  you  are  the 
means  of  preventing  me  from  being  in  the  gutter  still.' 

"  The  aged  man  motioned  his  friend  to  a  chair,  and 
resumed  his  own  seat,  too  much  affected  to  speak,  while 
an  invalid  lady,  at  the  farther  part  of  the  room  wept 
aloud.  She  well  remembered  the  dirty  boy,  and  the 
remonstrances  of  some  of  her  family  against  his  being 
brought  to  the  house. 

"  The  stranger  then,  in  a  few  words  gave  them  his  his- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  237 

tory.  Forgetting  the  instructions  he  had  received,  he 
soon  preferred  to  spend  his  Sabbath  in  play,  rather  than 
to  go  to  the  Sabbath  school,  and  as  years  passed,  grew 
more  and  more  hardened  in  crime.  At  length,  at  the 
age  of  fifteen  he  embarked  on  board  ship  as  a  sailor, 
and  here  he  soon  became  so  profane  as  to  shock  the  ears 
of  his  wicked  companions.  For  more  than  two  years  he 
continued  in  this  wicked  course,  until  one  night  in  a 
terrible  storm  at  sea,  the  vessel  in  which  he  had  sailed 
for  India,  was  dismasted,  and  they  expected  every  mo- 
ment to  go  to  the  bottom,  he  was  standing  aft  holding 
on  to  the  rigging,  when  a  wave  came  and  washed  him 
the  whole  length  of  the  vessel.  With  a  horrid  oath  he 
resumed  his  place,  when  a  voice  like  thunder  sounded  in 
his  ears,  "the  Lord  will  not  hold  him  guiltless  that 
taketh  his  name  in  vain."  He  gazed  around,  but  no 
one  was  near.  In  one  moment  he  was  carried  back  to 
the  small  school-house,  where  he  had  heard  those  words. 
"  Years  had  passed  since  he  had  heard  them,  but 
now  they  came  to  him  with  convincing  power,  and  he 
found  no  rest  until  he  threw  himself  at  the  feet  of  a  cru- 
cified Saviour,  revealed  to  him  by  the  very  one  who,  of  all 
others,  on  ship  board,  had  been  a  butt  for  his  low  ridicule. 
As  soon  as  he  was  discharged  from  the  ship,  he  went  to 
work  in  earnest  to  get  an  education,  for  at  that  time  he 
could  do  little  more  than  to  spell  out  a  page  of  simple 
reading ;  and,  not  to  tire  you  with  his  trials,  difficulties 
and  discouragements,  he  had  at  the  time  he  called  upon 
his  former  patron,  been  a  minister  of  the  gospel  for 
six  years.  He  was  connected  with  the  Methodist 
denomination,  and  had  labored  in  one  of  their  foreign 


238  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

fields,  to  which  he  was  now  intending  to  return,  after  an 
absence  of  a  few  months.  That  good  old  man  cast  his 
bread  upon  the  dark  waters,  and  though  for  many  long 
years  it  was  choked  with  weeds  and  tares,  yet  through 
the  blessing  of  God  it  had  at  last  been  found  after  many 
days." 

The  preacher  then  urged  his  hearers  never  to  be  dis- 
couraged on  account  of  the  unfruitfulness  of  the  soil,  nor 
any  other  adverse  circumstances,  for  God  had  power  by 
his  holy  Spirit,  to  make  use  of  the  humblest  instrumen- 
tality, even  by  a  word  spoken  in  season,  to  redeem  souls 
lost  in  sin,  and  give  them  a  place  among  his  people. 

He  then  closed  in  the  following  manner.  "  A  young 
man  was  about  to  leave  the  shores  of  his  native  country. 
He  had  been  religiously  educated,  but  was  without  hope, 
and  without  God  in  the  world.  Indeed  the  precious 
word  of  God  was  little  more  to  him  than  a  skilfully  de- 
vised fable.  Just  as  he  was  about  to  sail,  a  dear  friend 
put  into  his  hands  a  small  Bible  which  she  requested 
him  to  read  daily  for  her  sake,  assuring  him,  that  morn- 
ing and  evening  she  would  pray  that  the  truths  it  con- 
tained might  be  the  controlling  principles  of  his  life.  He 
took  the  book  and  gave  the  required  promise,  and  by  the 
blessing  of  God  upon  its  life-giving  doctrines,  joined  to 
the  earnest  prayers  which  I  doubt  not  ascended  morning 
and  evening  in  behalf  of  the  absent  friend,  this  blessed 
book,  (holding  up  to  view  a  well  worn  volume,)  became 
truly  a  lamp  to  his  feet,  and  a  light  to  his  path." 

His  broken  voice  and  humid  eye,  convinced  more  than 
one  hearer  that  the  preacher  alluded  to  himself,  and  when 
he  rose  for  .prayer  many  hearts  responded  to  his  appeal, 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  239 

and  determined  to  cast  their  bread  upon  the  waters,  that 
they  might  find  it  after  many  days. 

But  what  were  the  feelings  of  Mrs.  Gordon  as  she  was 
thus  assured  of  the  rich  blessing  which  had  attended  her 
parting  words.  A  quick,  bright  flush  upon  her  pale 
cheek,  and  a  convulsive  sob,  attracted  the  attention  of 
her  companion,  but  as  there  were  many  in  tears,  the 
emotion  passed  without  more  thought. 

As  Mr.  Wells  came  from  the  pulpit,  he  perceived  his 
friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Warren,  waiting  to  speak  with 
him ;  but  on  glancing  toward  the  pew  occupied  by  Mrs. 
Gordon,  he  saw  that  she  had  left  the  house. 

After  Mr.  Warren  had  expressed  his  pleasure  at  hear- 
ing his  old  friend,  he  said  with  enthusiasm,  "  I  wished  all 
the  time  that  Susan  could  have  been  here.  She  would 
have  enjoyed  your  sermon  exceedingly." 

"  I  think  she  was  here,"  remarked  Mr.  Wells,  quietly, 
"  I  recognized  her,  though  she  has  lost  her  bloom." 

"  Yes,  she  is  very  much  changed,"  answered  Mr.  War- 
ren, abstractedly,  feeling  sure  from  his  friend's  manner 
that  all  particular  interest  for  his  sister  had  subsided  into 
calm  friendship. 

Refusing  the  earnest  invitation  of  his  friends  to  dine 
with  them,  the  young  clergyman  returned  to  his  hotel, 
and  attempted  to  fix  his  mind  upon  his  afternoon  dis- 
course. But  on  the  page  before  him,  he  could  only  see 
a  black  bonnet,  from  under  which  a  pair  of  earnest  tear- 
ful eyes,  were  gazing  at  him. 

"  Strange,"  said  he  aloud,  throwing  aside  his  manu- 
script, "  that  one  glance  at  her  pale  face,  should  have  re- 
vived in  full  force  the  affection  I  counted  as  dead.  Oh, 


240  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

Susan,  is  your  heart  buried  in  the  grave  of  your  hus- 
band !      Or  can  you  now  return  my  devoted  love  ?  " 

It  was  not  without  a  struggle  that  the  young  man  at 
length  gave  his  attention  to  the  subject  before  him,  when 
his  mind  was  so  much  engrossed  with  it,  that  he  was 
surprised  by  the  ringing  of  the  bell. 

The  next  morning,  Mr.  Wells,  having  the  previous  week 
ascertained  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Hammond,  turned  his 
steps  in  that  direction,  wondering  at  how  early  an  hour 
he  might  venture  to  call.  Not  being  much  acquainted 
in  that  part  of  the  city,  he  was  just  going  to  ask  if  he 
were  in  the  right  direction,  when  he  saw  approaching 
him  a  boy,  running  at  full  speed  after  a  hoop,  followed 
by  two  girls,  and  a  beautiful  spaniel,  which  he  instantly 
recognized  as  Moselle.  They  were  all  running  past  him, 
when  with  a  low  whistle  he  called,  "  Moselle  !  Moselle ! 
poor  fellow,  good  Moselle ! " 

The  dog  turned,  raised  her  ears,  and  her  tail,  began 
smelling  around  for  a  moment,  and  then  sprang  with  a 
joyful  bark  of  recognition  upon  her  old  master.  So  vio- 
lent and  almost  fierce  was  her  joy,  that  Fanny  became 
alarmed  for  fear  she  would  injure  the  gentleman,  or  tear 
his  clothes.  She  called,  "  Moselle !  Moselle !  Come,  Mo- 
selle!" But  this  time  the  faithful  creature  took  no  heed 
to  the  oft  repeated  call. 

To  witness  what  they  would  do,  Mr.  Wells  turned  as 
if  to  walk  on,  and  Moselle,  though  barking  for  the  chil- 
dren to  follow,  went  with  him. 

"  Oh ! "  exclaimed  the  distressed  Fanny  to  her  sister, 
"  what  shall  we  do  ?  Moselle  is  going  off." 

After  one  moment's  hesitation  they  both  set  off  after 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  241 

her,  and  soon  overtaking  the  gentleman,  Helen  said 
"  please,  sir,  will  you  give  us  back  our  dog  ?  Mamma 
would  feel  very  sorry  if  we  should  come  home  without 
her." 

"  The  beautiful  creature  seems  to  like  me,"  replied  Mr. 
Wells,  smiling,  "  Don't  you  think  your  mother  would 
sell  her?" 

"  Oh,  no,  sir!"  they  exclaimed  in  alarm,  "  She  wouldn't 
give  her  up  on  any  account.  Somebody  gave  Moselle  to 
her  a  great  while  ago." 

"  Who  was  it  ? "  he  asked,  with  a  choking  voice. 

"  His  name  was  Henry,  sir ;  and  she  loves  Moselle 
very  much,  and  talks  to  her  about  Henry.  Come,  Mo- 
selle, go  with  me  to  mamma,  and  she'll  tell  you.  Henry 
come  back  sometime." 

At  this  speech,  Moselle  renewed  her  manifestations  of 
joy  by  jumping  on  her  old  master. 

In  the  mean  time  Frederic  had  been  standing  by,  his 
face  growing  very  determined,  as  if  he  were  making  up 
his  mind  to  defend  his  rights  to  the  death.  When  his 
sister  had  done  speaking,  he  came  forward  looking  very 
red.  "  No,  sir,"  he  said,  "  you  can't  have  her ;  mamma 
wouldn't  sell  her  for  a  whole  lot  of  gold." 

Mr.  Wells  patted  the  boy's  head  as  he  smiled  and  said, 
"  If  she  thinks  so  much  of  the  dog,  I  wouldn't  ask  her  to 
give  it  up ;  so,  '  good  bye,  good  bye,  Moselle,' "  and  he 
began  to  walk  away  ;  but  as  he  expected,  with  the  faith- 
ful creature  close  at  his  heels.  In  vain  did  the  children 
run  after  her  to  entice  her  back.  She  would  not  go  un- 
til the  gentleman  asked,  "  where  does  your  mother  live  ? 
21 


242  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

I  shall  have  to  take  the  dog  to  her,  as  she  will  not  leave 
me." 

"  Oh,  thank  you ;  thank  you,  sir.  She  lives  in  the 
next  street;"  and  now  Moselle  appeared  satisfied  that 
matters  were  in  a  right  train,  for  she  trotted  along  quietly 
until  they  reached  the  steps  of  Mrs.  Hammond's  house. 
When  the  servant  answered  the  door  bell,  Frederic  rushed 
forward  exclaiming,  "  mamma,  don't  let  Moselle  go  away ; 
here's  a  gentleman  with  Moselle." 

It  was  still  very  early,  and  as  the  children  in  their  ear- 
nestness ushered  Mr.  Wells  into  the  breakfast  room,  he 
saw  the  young  widow  standing  at  the  table  wiping  the 
silver.  Helen  was  preparing  to  introduce  the  stranger, 
when  with  a  sudden  start  forward,  he  caught  her  hand, 
and  the  interchanged  names,  "  Susan"  "  Henry"  showed 
that  they  were  already  acquainted. 

Poor  Susan !  the  color  came  and  went,  and  with  a 
thought  of  the  loss  she  had  sustained  since  he  left  home, 
she  burst  into  tears.  Henry  led  her  to  a  chair  and  sought 
to  soothe  her,  when  she  soon  regained  her  composure, 
and  introduced  her  aunt,  who  well  remembered  him. 

After  explaining  to  the  children  that  this  gentleman 
was  the  Henry  who  gave  her  Moselle,  she  dismissed 
them  to  their  play,  though  the  dog  absolutely  refused  to 
accompany  them.  With  regard  to  the  old  friends,  it  is 
sufficient  to  say  that  after  conversing  together  an  hour  in 
the  breakfast  room,  while  Mrs.  Gordon  finished  her  morn- 
ing duties,  they  adjourned  to  the  parlor,  accompanied  by 
Mrs.  Hammond.  Their  themes  of  conversation  were  far 
from  exhausted.  When  the  bell  rang  for  dinner,  Mr. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  243 

Wells  suddenly  took  leave,  as  he  had  engaged  to  dine  at 
Mr.  Warren's,  but  asked  leave  to  come  again  in  the 
evening. 

"  Come  as  often  as  you  please,"  said  Mrs.  Hammond 
cordially.  "  we  shall  make  no  stranger  of  you." 


CHAPTER    XX. 

THE  YOUNG  WIDOW. 

AFTER  dinner,  when  she  had  seen  her  aunt  in  bed  for 
her  daily  nap,  Mrs.  Gordon  retired  to  her  own  room  and 
made  the  following  entry  into  her  diary. 

"  Henry  Wells  has  come  home  —  a  Christian  and  .a 
clergyman.  How  grateful  I  ought  to  be,  that  any  words 
of  mine  were  blessed  to  his  soul.  Yesterday  1  thought 
him  very  much  changed.  So  calm,  when  he  used  to  be 
impetuous ;  but  to-day  he  seemed  just  like  the  Henry  I 
knew  when  a  child.  I  longed  to  ask  him  if  he  were 
married ;  but  some  how  I  could  not,  as  he  did  not  allude 
to  such  a  connection.  He  listened  with  great  interest  to 
the  subject  on  which  I  most  love  to  talk,  the  character 
of  my  dear  husband.  Oh,  how  he  would  have  rejoiced 
in  the  conversion  of  this  dear  friend!  Aunt  Susy  was 
very  much  interested  in  his  conversation.  He  says  he 
has  much  to  tell  me  not  only  of  his  travels,  but  also  of 
his  plans  for  the  future.  He  passed  last  Sabbatli  at 
home,  and  preached  in  the  old  church  for  father.  I  pre- 
sume, if  he  has  a  family,  he  left  them  there.  I  will  ask 
Thomas  about  it.  I  wonder  if  he  would  have  called  to- 
day, if  it  had  not  been  for  Moselle." 

In  the  afternoon,  on  the  way  to  his  counting-room, 
Thomas  called  to  say  that  he  and  Laura  would  accom- 
pany Henry  there  in  the  evening,  and  his  sister  took  the 

(244) 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  245 

opportunity  to  ask  some  questions  with  regard  to  her 
friend. 

In  the  evening,  when  they  were  all  seated  together, 
Thomas,  with  something  of  his  former  teasing  habit, 
said,  "  Henry,  a  lady  asked  me,  to-day,  if  you  were  a 
Benedict.  I  believe  I  understood  you  to  say  you  were 
not." 

Mr.  Wells,  whose  hopes  had  been  so  buoyed  up  by  the 
kind  reception  he  had  met  with  in  the  morning,  experi- 
enced a  sudden  sinking  of  the  heart.  He  bent  his  eyes 
upon  Susan  with  almost  a  look  of  reproach,  and  if  he 
had  doubted  before  who  had  asked  the  question,  he 
doubted  no  more,  as  he  saw  the  deepened  color  in  her 
cheeks ;  but  with  a  seriousness  Thomas  considered 
wholly  uncalled  for,  answered  briefly,  "  You  understood 
me  aright.  During  my  absence  I  saw  many  beautiful 
ladies,  and  many  accomplished  ones,  but  none  whom  I 
wished  to  ask  to  sustain  to  me  the  relation  of  wife." 

The  evening  passed  off  pleasantly  in  general  conversa- 
tion, but  the  question  of  Mrs.  Gordon  to  her  brother  was 
the  occasion  of  a  sleepless  night  to  the  subject  of  it,  and 
he  could  not  but  confess  to  himself  that  her  manner  was 
more  constrained  after  knowing  that  he  was  still  unmar- 
ried. 

"  Could  it  have  been  the  supposition  that  it  was  oth- 
erwise, which  led  her  to  receive  me  so  warmly  in  the 
morning  ?  "  was  a  question  which  he  asked  himself  again 
and  again,  but  which  he  saw  no  way  to  solve  to  his  sat- 
isfaction, unless  he  asked  the  lady  herself. 

Early  the  next  morning,  hearing  Mrs.  Warren  express 
her  determination  to  send  for  her  aunt  and  sister  to 
21* 


246  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

come  with  the  children  to  pass  the  day,  Mr.  Wells  vol- 
unteered to  be  the  bearer  of  the  message,  as  he  was  in- 
tending to  invite  the  little  girls  out  for  a  walk.  He  did 
so,  and  as  Mrs.  Warren  had  requested  them  to  come 
very  early,  he  proposed  to  accompany  them  when  he  re- 
turned. 

"  The  children  will  be  happy  to  do  so,"  replied  Mrs. 
Gordon.  "  Mr.  Whitney  will  drive  aunt  and  myself 
over,  as  she  is  feeble." 

During  the  walk  Mr.  Wells  endeavored  to  drive  away 
his  despondence,  and  render  himself  agreeable  to  his  lit- 
tle charge.  He  was  not  long  in  ascertaining  that  his 
conversation  must  be  confined  to  the  little  girls,  each  of 
whom  claimed  a  hand,  for  Master  Frederic  was  as  un- 
tamed as  a  wild  colt,  darting  up  this  street  and  down 
that,  with  Moselle  barking  at  his  heels. 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Whitney  ?  "  was  a  question  he  longed  to 
ask ;  and  yet  he  did  not  think  it  quite  honorable  to  elicit 
information  from  the  children,  and  so  he  went  back  with 
them  to  a  description  of  their  life  at  the  parsonage. 
True,  they  could  not  remember  all  that  they  told  him, 
but  they  had  often  heard  their  mother  and  Nora  talk 
of  their  old  home,  and  well  understood  their  subject. 

After  waiting  a  few  moments,  while  Mrs.  Gordon  at- 
tended to  the  dressing  of  the  children,  Mr.  Wells  was 
about  to  take  his  leave  with  them,  when  Mr.  Whitney 
entered,  and  was  introduced  to  him.  Mr.  Wells  instantly 
remembered  him  as  the  gentleman  he  had  seen  in  the 
pew  with  Mrs.  Gordon,  and  a  sharp  pang  shot  through 
his  heart.  Mr.  Whitney  was,  however,  very  much 
pleased  to  see  the  clergyman,  having  been  exceedingly 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  247 

interested  in  his  preaching,  of  which  fact  he  kindly  as- 
sured him. 

On  his  way  to  Mr.  Warren's,  he  met  two  gentlemen 
who  had  come  from  his  hotel,  and  were  going  in  search 
of  him.  They  made  themselves  known  as  the  commit- 
tee of  the  church,  and  then  walked  with  him  to  the 
house  of  his  friend.  They  there  assured  him,  that  as  far 
as  they  had  been  able  to  ascertain,  the  congregation  had 
been  much  interested  in  his  discourses,  and  wished  to 
lose  no  time  in  engaging  him  to  preach  as  a  candidate. 

Mr.  Wells  replied  that  he  had  been  employed  by  the 
clergyman,  upon  whom  he  had  accidentally  called,  to 
supply  the  pulpit  for  three  Sabbaths,  but  did  not  wish  to 
be  considered  as  a  candidate  for  settlement,  certainly  not 
at  present,  as  he  might  yet  conclude  to  return  to  Scot- 
land, where  he  had  a  call  to  settle. 

Though  he  did  not  design  it,  yet  this  answer  only 
made  the  gentlemen  more  earnest  to  engage  his  ser- 
vices ;  but  as  they  found  him  decided  to  give  them  no 
encouragement  at  present,  they  ceased  for  the  time  to 
press  him  farther.  As  he  waited  upon  them  to  the  door, 
the  thought  passed  his  mind,  "  if  I  only  knew  that  I 
could  gain  Susan's  affections,  I  would  allow  them  to 
proceed  as  they  wish." 

Entirely  unconscious  that  the  lady  who  passed  them 
on  the  steps,  had  such  an  influence  on  the  fate  of  their 
church,  the  committee  departed,  regretting  the  unfavor- 
able answer  they  had  received.  "  We  must  see  Mr. 
Warren,"  remarked  one  of  them,  "  and  enlist  him  in  our 
service.  He  is  a  townsman,  I  hear." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  other,  "  and  a  staunch  Christian  he 


248  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

is,  too,  as  well  as  a  thorough  business  man.  I  am  told  he 
will  not  use  a  cent  of  his  wife's  money  in  his  business, 
but  prefers  her  to  give  away  the  income  for  charitable 
purposes. 

At  dinner  Mr.  Wells  had  a  farther  opportunity  to  be- 
come acquainted  with  Mr.  Whitney,  who  he  found  was  a 
nephew  of  Mrs.  Hammond's  husband.  He  also  ascer- 
tained that  he  was  an  unmarried  man,  and  that  he 
owned  a  beautiful  house  and  grounds  three  miles  out  of 
town.  That  he  kept  a  carriage,  and  was  often  in  the 
habit  of  taking  his  young  relatives  to  ride,  was  very  evi- 
dent from  their  conversation  with  him.  He  had  no 
sooner  entered,  than  master  Frederic  was  on  his  knee, 
showing  off  to  his  new  friend,  his  acquaintance  with  all 
that  concerned  uncle  William,  as  he  had  been  taught  to 
call  him. 

"  How  are  Carlo  and  Dix  ? "  inquired  the  boy. 

"  Well,  very  well,  and  sent  their  regards." 

The  children  laughed,  and  the  boy  continued,  "  may  I 
ride  home  with  you  to-night  ?  " 

"  If  your  mother  is  willing." 

"  You  ask  her,"  whispered  the  boy. 

"  Yes,  Frederiq,"  Mrs.  Gordon  answered,  overhearing 
the  question. 

"  I'm  going  to  live  with  uncle  William  sometime, 
aren't  1,  mamma?" 

"  I  cannot  say,  my  dear." 

"  You  said  you'd  see  about  it." 

Mr.  Wells  noticed  a  quick  glance  between  uncle  Wil- 
liam, and  the  lady,  and  he  bent  his  eye  piercingly  upon 
her,  so  that  it  was  no  wonder  her  cheeks  burned  pain- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  249 

fully,  as  she  answered  the  child.  "  Well,  my  boy,  I  will 
keep  my  word." 

"  Then  I  shall  go,"  he  whispered  again,  "  Fanny  and 
Helen  say  she  always  lets  us  when  she  sees  about  it." 

This  remark  made  the  whole  company  smile ;  but 
Mr.  Wells  did  so  with  a  sad  pain  at  his  heart.  To 
Mr.  Whitney,  however,  though  the  conversation  con- 
tained nothing  particularly  encouraging  to  his  hopes,  yet 
he  was  thankful  that  it  did  not  repel  him.  For  nearly 
two  years,  he  had  been  much  in  the  society  of  the  young 
widow,  had  witnessed  her  piety,  her  devotion  to  her 
aunt  and  children,  her  enthusiastic  yet  even  tempera- 
ment, and  he  thought  if  he  could  have  her  for  the  mis- 
tress of  his  suburban  home,  he  should  be  happy  indeed. 
His  aunt  had  long  suspected  his  affection  for  her  dear 
Susy,  and  rejoiced  at  it  with  all  her  heart ;  but  to  the 
object  of  it  Mr.  Whitney  had  never  breathed  a  word  of 
love.  For  a  long  time  this  would  have  been  improper, 
and  of  late,  as  he  had  watched  her,  he  imagined  a  certain 
coolness,  or  rather  a  dignity,  on  her  part,  which  prevented 
him  from  willingly  running  the  risk  of  losing  her  by  a 
formal  presentation  of  his  hand.  Though  nearly  forty 
years  of  age,  and  with  sufficient  property  to  sustain  a 
family  in  affluence,  he  was  willing  to  wait  rather  than  to 
lose  all  by  being  premature,  especially  as,  in  his  frequent 
visits  to  the  house,  he  had  every  opportunity  to  enjoy 
her  society,  though  she  was  very  chary  of  her  company 
when  her  aunt  was  not  present. 

Such  was  their  relation  to  each  other.  Of  Susan's 
feeling  we  may  hereafter  judge  from  her  diary:  but  at 
present  Mr.  Wells  was  very  ingenious  in  finding  some 


250  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGESJ 

look  or  word  with  which  to  torture  himself  when  alone. 
Mr.  Warren  and  Mr.  Whitney  left  after  dinner,  to  return 
to  their  business ;  but  though  they  invited  Mr.  Wells  to 
accompany  them,  Laura  immediately  replied  that  they 
could  not  spare  him ;  that  it  needed  one  gentleman  to 
entertain  Master  Frederic. 

In  a  few  moments,  the  young  gentleman  slipped  from 
the  room,  and  Mrs.  Warren,  in  passing  through  the  hall, 
heard  him  in  earnest  conversation  with  the  porter.  She 
returned  to  the  parlor,  and  beckoned  his  mother  and  Mr. 
Wells  to  follow  her.  From  their  position  they  could 
hear  all  that  was  said  without  being  seen. 

"  My  mamma  whips  me,  when  I  am  naughty,"  said 
the  boy. 

"  That's  too  bad ! "  replied  the  man  in  a  sympathizing 
tone. 

"  No,  it  isn't  too  bad,"  exclaimed  Frederic  with  warmth. 
"  It's  just  right ; — I  like  to  have  her,  because  it  says  she 
must  in  the  Bible,  to  save  me  from  going  to  the  wicked 
place,  and  it  don't  hurt  me  any." 

"  There's  a  lesson  for  you,"  whispered  Henry ;  in  reply 
to  which  she  gravely  shook  her  head,  though  she  could 
not  resist  an  inclination  to  join  in  the  laugh. 

"  I  fear  I  am  too  lenient  with  him,"  she  responded, 
after  a  moment,  —  and  when  they  had  returned  to  the 
parlor, — "  He  is  so  different  from  the  twins.  If  his  father 
had  lived,"  she  added,  her  eyes  becoming  moist,  "  he 
would  have  had  better  management.  He  will  sadly 
miss  his  father's  firm  government  as  he  becomes  old." 

Days  grew  into  weeks.  The  church  had  presented 
Mr.  Wells  a  unanimous  call  to  settle  with  them ;  but  he 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  251 

told  the  committee  that  he  preferred  the  parish  would 
not  take  any  steps  until  his  own  mind  was  determined 
in  regard  to  his  future  course.  In  the  mean  time,  Mr. 
Warren  had  urged  his  friend  to  settle  with  them.  He 
perceived  that  Henry  was  undecided  and  doubtful,  and 
that  this  state  of  mind  was  injuring  his  health ;  and  he 
at  length  drew  from  him  the  confession  that  he  was 
unwilling  to  decide  the  question  until  he  could  ascertain 
whether  Susan  could  return  his  affection.  "  If  she  can- 
not," he  remarked  sadly,  "  I  shall  pay  my  parents  a 
farewell  visit,  and  return  at  once  to  Scotland." 

"  I  certainly  had  no  idea  of  this,"  responded  Mr. 
Warren,  "  and  cannot  at  all  judge  of  her  feelings.  I  am 
sure  Mr.  Whitney  is  fond  of  her,  and  I  have  wished  that, 
at  a  proper  time,  she  would  marry  again,  but  I  never 
thought  her  particularly  interested  in  him.  I  will  say  to 
you,  in  confidence,  that  I  understood  Mr.  Gordon  wished 
it ;  that  is,  if  she  could  be  happier.  In  his  case,  how- 
ever, I  may  be  mistaken,  as  I  may  be  also  in  yours." 

"  In  mine  ?  What  of  mine  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Wells  eagerly. 

"  Why,  I  concluded  that  absence  and  Susan's  mar- 
riage had  entirely  weaned  your  affections  from  her ;  but 
I'll  get  Laura  to  ascertain  her  feelings." 

A  day  or  two  after,  Mrs.  Warren  called  upon  her 
sister-in-law  for  this  purpose.  When  they  had  been 
conversing  for  some  time  upon  indifferent  topics,  Laura 
said, — "  I  regret  extremely  that  we  cannot  prevail  upon 
Mr.  Wells  to  remain  in  New  York.  It  will  be  a 
great  disappointment  to  the  society ;  but  I  understood 
my  husband  that  he  will  probably  settle  in  Scotland." 
Susan  rose  abruptly  and  left  the  room,  and  though 


252  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES', 

after  half  an  hour,  Mrs.  Warren  sent  one  of  her  nieces  to 
see  if  she  were  not  intending  to  return,  she  came  back 
with  an  apology  from  her  mother,  on  the  plea  of  a  bad 
headache  this  morning.  "  She  is  crying,"  artlessly  added 
the  child.  Mrs.  Warren  departed  quite  delighted  with 
the  fact  she  should  have  to  relate  to  her  husband,  as  an 
evidence  of  his  sister's  interest  in  his  friend. 

After  nearly  an  hour  passed  in  tears,  —  during  which 
poor  Susan  yearned  for  the  sympathizing  heart  of  him 
who  was  sleeping  quietly  in  the  village  churchyard, — she 
turned  to  her  journal,  and  began  to  write.  At  the  bottom 
of  the  desk  was  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Hall,  her  dear  friend 

from  B .  This  lady  had  passed  a  few  days  with  her 

on  her  return  from  a  tour  to  the  west,  and,  during  that 
visit,  put  into  her  hand  this  sealed  note.  She  had  wit- 
nessed the  attentions  of  Mr.  Whitney,  and  thought  the 
time  might  be  at  hand  when  she  should  deliver  a  mes- 
sage to  the  widow  she  had  received  for  her  from  her 
dying  husband.  As  she  hinted  at  the  subject,  Mrs. 
Gordon  really  felt  incapable  of  opening  it,  and  was 
grieved  that  her  friend  should  suppose  .she  would  ever 
marry  again. 

"Oh  yes,  my  dear!"  answered  Mrs.  Hall;  "you  are 
young  yet ;  life  is  all  before  you.  I  have  no  doubt  such 
will  be  the  case  at  some  future  time.  If  you  do  not 
choose  to  read  my  letter  now,  lay  it  aside  till  you  need 
counsel." 

This  she  had  done  ;  and  now  the  letter  lay  before  her. 
She  took  it  up,  and  was  about  to  tear  open  the  seal,  — 
then,  with  a  sigh,  returned  it  to  her  desk  and  resumed  her 
writing ; — from  which  we  will  take  liberty  to  read  a  few 
extracts :  — 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  253 

"  How  much  Henry  reminds  me  of  my  dear  husband. 
I  think  his  Christian  character  has  softened  and  subdued, 
as  well  as  elevated  him.  I  often  wonder  if  he  ever 
thinks  of  the  last  time  we  met  at  home.  From  his  calm 
appearance,  I  judge  not ;  and  yet,  he  sometimes  gives 
me  a  look  which  recalls  the  past.  I  fear  he  thinks  me 
very  forward,  and  I  have  often  heard  that  widows  are 
considered  so ;  but  I  must  be  on  my  guard.  I  certainly 
wish  to  preserve  his  respect." 

Later :  — 

"  Henry  has  received  a  call  from  our  church.  On 
many  accounts  it  would  be  pleasant  to  have  him 
here;  but  I  have  never  mentioned  the  subject  to  him. 
He  is  very  kind  to  me,  and  appears  fond  of  the  children. 
He  was  much  pleased  when  aunt  said  to  him :  '  If  1 
did  not  remember  you  from  a  boy,  I  should  feel  ac- 
quainted with  you  from  hearing  Susan  and  her  husband 
speak  of  you  so  frequently.' 

"Dear  aunt!  —  She  would  hardly  have  told  him  that, 
if  she  knew  all  that  has  passed  between  us." 

"  Yesterday  I  heard  Henry  preach  for  the  fourth  Sab- 
bath. I  have  sometimes  thought  it  strange  that,  ex- 
cept in  his  first  sermon,  he  should  never  have  made  the 
least  allusion  to  the  Bible  I  gave  him.  This  morning 
he  called  to  take  the  children,  for  their  usual  walk.  I 
happened  to  be  alone,  for  the  moment,  with  Mr.  Whit- 
ney, in  the  breakfast-room,  an  occurrence  which  I  have 
studiously  avoided  since  I  suspected  his  affection  for  me. 
Poor  Henry  seemed  to  feel  that  he  was  an  intruder ;  but 
I  begged  him  most  earnestly  to  stay,  and  Mr.  Whitney 
22 


254  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND   MARRIAGES  J 

soon  departed.  Henry  began  to  apologize ;  but  I  aid  : 
1  On  the  contrary,  you  relieved  me  from  an  embari  xssing 
position.'  Could  I  be  mistaken  in  thinking  that  he  was 
much  pleased  at  the  confidence  I  reposed  in  him  ? " 

"  This  morning  sister  Laura  has  been  here,  and  told 
me  Henry  would  probably  go  to  Scotland.  It  was  so 
sudden  to  me  that  I  was  obliged  to  leave  the  room  to 
conceal  my  emotion.  What  must  Laura  have  thought 
of  me  !  Or  what  can  I  think  of  myself  ?  Why  should 
I  be  so  much  overcome  ?  Henry  has  never,  since  his 
return,  spoken  to  me  of  love.  Can  it  be  that  I  have 
been  so  wanting  in  self-respect  as  to  give  my  affections 
unasked  ?  But  I  hear  Nora  opening  the  door,  and  as 
aunt  is  riding  out,  I  must  prepare  to  go  down." 

A  few  hours  after  the  call  of  Mrs.  Warren,  Mr.  Wells 
rung  at  the  door,  and  inquired  for  Mrs.  Gordon. 

As  Nora  went  to  her  room  to  call  her,  she  started  to 
look  in  the  mirror.  Her  eyes  still  bore  the  traces  of 
tears ;  and  she  was  very  reluctant  to  have  him  see  her  in 
such  a  condition ;  but  on  a  second  call,  from  Frederic, 
she  went  below.  If  her  face  was  flushed  with  weeping, 
his  was  intensely  pale,  —  for  he  had  come  to  know 
whether  she  would  return  his  affection.  As  soon  as  they 
were  seated,  he  said  to  Frederic,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  wish 
to  talk  with  your  mother  a  few  moments ;  will  you  run 
and  play  with  your  sisters  ?  " 

The  boy  glanced  from  one  of  them  to  the  other ; 
then  nodded  his  head,  and  ran  away. 

"  Susan,"  he  began,  after  two  or  three  impatient  turns 
across  the  room,  — "  you  may  think  me  presuming  on 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  255 

your  kindness;  you  may  think  my  conduct  absurd, —  but 
I  can  bear  this  suspense  no  longer."  He  hesitated,  and 
then  seated  himself  by  her  side :  "  My  former  affection 
for  you  has  returned  ;  and  not  only  that,  but  it  has  in- 
creased ten  fold." 

"  And  the  same  is  true  with  me,  dear  Henry,"  she 
replied  as  she  placed  her  hand  in  his,  though  her  face 
was  covered  with  roses. 

I  will  not  tire  the  reader  with  an  account  of  the  de- 
light experienced  by  Henry  at  this  frank  avowal ;  nor  of 
the  two  hours'  uninterrupted  conversation  which  fol- 
lowed. Neither  will  I  try  to  express  the  pleasure  of  the 
committee  who,  by  appointment,  waited  upon  him  that 
evening  at  Mr.  Warrenrs,  when  the  young  clergyman 
informed  them  that  his  business  had  terminated  so 
favorably  that  he  had  concluded  to  remain  in  this  coun- 
try, and  would  do  nothing  further  to  prevent  the  parish 
from  jnpeeting  to  act  upon  the  vote  of  the  church. 

OfPreturning  to  her  room,  —  after  the  interview  with 
Mr.  Wells,  which  would  have  such  an  important  bearing 
upon  her  future  life, —  Susan  again  wrote  a  few  lines 
in  her  diary,  which  she  found  she  had,  in  her  haste,  left 
open  upon  the  table ;  but,  before  she  did  this,  she  again 
drew  out  the  letter  from  Mrs.  Hall,  and  having  broken 
the  seal,  with  a  trembling  hand,  and  a  beating  heart, 
proceeded  to  unfold  and  read  it. 

The  letter  was  brief,  and  was  as  follows  :  — 

"  Very  Dear  and  Respected  Friend,  — 

"  More  than  a  year  ago,  on  an  occasion  of  great 
grief  at  the  death  of  my  beloved  pastor,  your  dear  hus- 


256  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

band,  made  a  memorandum  of  a  message  from  him  to 
you.  It  was  when  I  was  first  summoned  to  his  sick 
room,  and  while  my  husband  had  gone  for  the  physician, 
—  that  supposing  he  could  live  but  a  few  hours,  and 
fearing  that  you  might  not  reach  him  while  he  was 
living,  —  he  said  to  me,  in  a  broken  voice,  —  for  his 
agony  at  the  time  was  great :  '  You  have  always  been  a 
good  friend  to  my  dear,  dear  wife,  and  I  wish  to  leave  a 
confidential  message  for  her  with  you,  not  to  be  de- 
livered for  the  present ;  but  according  to  circumstances, 
and  at  such  time  as  you  may  judge  proper.  She  is 
young  and  attractive,  and  will  probably  receive  propo- 
sals to  marry  again.  It  may  be  that  a  dear  friend,  who 
is  now  abroad,  will,  at  a  suitable  time,  renew  his  offer  to 
her.  If  he,  or  any  other  one  gains  her  affections,  I  do 
not  wish  her  to  hesitate  or  to  devote  herself  to  a  single 
life,  for  she  is  eminently  calculated  to  give  and  receive 
happiness  in  the  married  state.  I  feel  that  this  message 
is  due  from  me  to  her,  as  she  has  sometimes  expressed 
herself  strongly  against  second  marriages.' 

"  He  was  so  much  distressed  as  he  proceeded,  that  I 
interrupted  him,  by  giving  him  medicine  or  by  fanning 
him ;  but  he  returned  to  the  subject  again  as  soon  as  he 
was  at  all  relieved.  When  my  husband  came  in  with 
the  physician,  I  leaned  over  him  and  said,  <  I  understand 
your  wish,  and  will  strictly  comply  with  it.  I  will  also 
promise  to  be  a  friend  to  her  as  long  as  I  live,  and  at 
some  future  time  to  make  known  your  kind  mes- 
sage."' 

Tears  blinded  the  eyes  of  the  widow  as  she  endeav- 
ored to  read  the  kind  words  of  love,  and  unselfish  con- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  257 

sideration  for  her  happiness,  which  seemed  to  come  to 
her  from  the  grave  of  her.  beloved  husband.  In  the 
midst  of  all  his  agony,  he  had  provided  for  her  welfare. 
Again  and  again  she  took  up  her  pen,  but  was  obliged 
to  lay  it  down,  and  give  way  to  the  grief  which  the 
remembrance  of  that  never  to  be  forgotten  scene  occa- 
sioned her,  —  at  length  she  wrote:  — 

"  Henry  has  again  proposed  marriage,  and  this  time  I 
did  not  decline  his  proposal.  The  affections  which  I 
thought  forever  dead  have  revived  under  the  influence  of 
his  warm  and  constant  attachment. 

"  In  a  dying  message  from  my  beloved  husband,  through 
my  kind  friend,  Mrs.  Hall,  I  find  that  he  anticipated  such 
an  event,  and  expressed  the  wish  that  I  should  marry,  if 
I  found  it  would  contribute  to  my  happiness.  This 
dying  act  was  perfectly  consistent  with  the  whole  of  his 
conduct  with  regard  to  me.  Oh,  am  I  not  mistaken  in 
supposing  I  can  ever  love  another !  Shall  I  not  render 
myself  and  Henry  unhappy  by  the  indulgence  of  undue 
grief  or  regret  at  the  loss  I  have  sustained!  Let  me 
rather  strive  to  act  upon  the  principle  which,  in  such  an 
eminent  degree,  governed  him,  and  follow  the  example 
he  set  me  for  nearly  five  blissful  years. 

"  For  the  sake  of  my  children,  especially  of  Frederic, 
I  confess  it  is  desirable  I  should  marry,  especially  if,  as 
I  now  feel  sure  will  be  the  case,  they  will  find  a  true 
father  in  my  choice.  Henry  has  already  acquired  a 
great  influence  over  my  restive  boy,  which  I  doubt  not 
will  increase,  and  be  in  the  highest  degree  beneficial  to 
him." 

22* 


258  THK    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

The  betrothal  of  Mrs.  Gordon  to  Mr.  Wells  occasioned 
great  joy,  not  only  to  her  brother  and  aunt,  but  to  their 

parents  in  C ,  who  were  immediately  informed  by 

him  of  his  happy  prospects.  Henry  urged  an  immediate 
union,  stating  in  glowing  terms  the  propriety  of  a  clergy- 
man being  a  married  man,  and  having  a  home  where  his 
people  could  call  upon  him,  and  Susan  having  consented 
to  be  his,  saw  no  reason  for  delaying  the  marriage  be- 
yond a  few  months.  Mr.  Wells,  therefore,  with  the  as- 
sistance of  a  gentleman  of  the  committee,  began  the 
search  for  a  house.  Mrs.  Hammond  soon  heard  of  this, 
and  put  a  final  stop  to  such  a  necessity,  by  calling  in  a 
lawyer,  and  making  over  the  elegant  mansion  in  which 
she  lived,  to  her  niece.  This  she  told  Mr.  Wells  she  had 
intended  to  do  at  her  decease,  if  Susan  preferred  living 
in  the  city ;  or,  if  not,  to  invest  the  property  for  her  bene- 
fit elsewhere.  The  young  widow  was  very  much  affected 
at  her  aunt's  generosity,  and  drew  from  her  a  promise 
not  unwillingly  given,  to  remain  with  them,  and  consti- 
tute, as  they  had  done,  but  one  family 

It  was  now  the  last  of  July.  On  the  next  Sabbath 
Mr.  Wells  intended  to  give  an  acceptance  to  the  unani- 
mous call  which  he  had  received  from  both  church  and 
parish,  after  which  he  had  agreed  to  supply  either  by 
preaching  or  exchange,  until  the  first  of  October,  when 
he  wished  to  be  absent  a  month  on  his  wedding  tour. 
The  services  of  his  ordination  were  to  be  postponed  until 
his  return,  and  probably  would  take  place  the  second 
week  in  November.  The  intelligence  of  the  early  mar- 
riage of  their  intended  pastor,  excited  for  the  fair  widow 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  259 

no  slight  degree  of  attention.  The  story  of  his  attachment 
to  Mrs.  Gordon  previous  to  her  first  marriage,  his  con- 
stancy to  this  attachment  through  all  the  temptations  of 
his  foreign  life,  and  many  other  circumstances  connected 
with  their  private  history  were  related  and  exaggerated 
as  usual  on  such  occasions.  The  lovely  twins  and  the 
fearless  boy  also  came  under  notice,  and  whereas  hereto- 
fore passers  by  contented  themselves  by  remarking  as 
they  met  them  at  play  upon  the  side-walk,  "  what  beau- 
tiful children,"  now  their  deep  sun-bonnets  were  often 
pushed  back  by  ladies,  who  asked,  "  are  you  Mrs.  Gor- 
don's little  girls  ?  How  is  your  mamma  ?"  While  some 
not  so  prudent,  asked,  "  how  do  you  like  the  idea  of  hav- 
ing a  new  papa  ?  " 

Upon  Mr.  Whitney  this  announcement  came  so  sud- 
denly, that  he  could  scarcely  credit  it,  until  informed  by 
his  aunt  of  their  previous  history,  which  Henry  related  to 
her  when  he  asked  of  her  the  hand  of  her  niece.  Find- 
ing his  hopes  thus  disappointed,  he  concluded  to  leave 
home,  until  after  her  departure  for  her  native  place,  where 
her  aunt  was  to  accompany  her  in  a  few  weeks.  His 
aunt  advised  him  to  see  Susan,  and  bid  her  farewell, 
which  he  at  length  concluded  to  do,  though  with  great 
reluctance,  for  he  thought  that  she  must  have  been  aware 
of  his  increasing  attachment  to  her,  and  he  respected  her 
for  the  course  she  had  adopted,  which  prevented  his  en- 
during the  mortification  of  being  refused  by  her. 

In  this  farewell  interview,  he  assured  her  that  no  one 
rejoiced  in  her  prospects  of  happiness,  more  than  he  him- 
self did,  and  he  added,  "  I  think  you  eminently  qualified 
for  the  station  which  you  are  to  fill." 


260  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES. 

Mrs.  Gordon  was  so  frank  in  her  expression  of  interest 
for  him,  and  her  gratitude  for  his  kind  wishes  that,  as  he 
left,  he  ventured  to  hope  that  she  might  have  been  de- 
ceived as  to  the  nature  of  his  affection,  especially  as  she 
said  :  "  I  trust  that  we  shall  always  retain  you  not  only 
as  a  parishioner,  but  as  a  friend." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  WINNING  WIFE. 

HENRY  STAXWOOD,  the  former  classmate  of  Thomas 
Warren,  was  a  young  lawyer  of  good  talents  and  amia- 
ble disposition.  Whether  his  "  cuteness"  with  the  faculty 
really  turned  his  attention  to  the  legal  profession,  I  can- 
not say ;  but  having  been  admitted  to  the  bar,  he  estab- 
lished himself  in  Cheswell,  a  flourishing  town  in  New 
England. 

Here  he  was  introduced  to  Mary  Carlton,  the  beauty 
and  belle  of  the  place.  He  wooed  and  won  her;  and 
after  a  few  months,  during  which  she  was  absent  on  a 
visit  to  a  friend  at  the  south,  they  were  married,  and 
quietly  settled  in  a  home  of  their  own. 

The  young  lawyer,  though  not  particularly  partial  to 
parties  and  places  of  amusement,  had  always  been  in 
the  habit  of  attending  them  as  a  means  of  increasing 
his  practice.  His  young  and  lovely  bride  had  been  the 
life  of  every  gay  circle,  and  no  entertainment  was 
thought  complete  without  her. 

About  six  months  after  their  marriage  her  attention 
was  called  to  the  subject  of  religion,  when,  to  the  great 
mortification  and  chagrin  of  Mr.  Stanwood,  his  wife, 
became  a  meek  and  humble  Christian. 

Neither  Henry  nor  Mary  had  been  religiously  edu- 
cated; and  though  respect  for  her  feelings  prevented  him 

(261) 


262  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

from  saying  so  openly,  yet  Henry  felt  that  his  happiness 
had  departed.  Instead  of  a  lively,  cheerful  companion 
to  meet  him  on  his  return  home,  who,  by  her  gayety, 
would  beguile  him  of  all  his  office  trials  and  cares,  he 
must  now  look  forward  to  gloom  and  despondence.  His 
hitherto  happy  home,  and  lovely  wife  were  converted, 
he  thought,  into  a  vestry  for  long  prayers,  and  a  pious 
fanatic. 

Poor  Mary,  on  her  part,  was  not  less  tried.  Not 
having  been  blessed  with  Christian  parents,  or  educated 
amidst  the  cheerful  piety  of  a  truly  happy  home,  she 
knew  not  how  far  she  ought  to  conform  to  her  husband's 
views  and  wishes.  She  heard  his  covert  taunts  in  si- 
lence, and  often  turned  away  to  conceal  a  tear ;  but  they 
drove  her,  where  all  our  sorrows  and  trials  should  drive 
us,  to  our  Saviour's  feet.  Here  she  poured  out  her 
whole  soul  before  One  who  "  was  in  all  points  tempted 
like  as  we  are,"  that  he  might  "  succor  us  when  we  are 
tempted." 

Day  after  day  did  the  sweet  young  wife  repair  to  her 
closet,  and  as  often  were  her  prayers  answered.  Light 
began  to  dawn  upon  her  path.  Her  beloved  Harry,  con- 
verted to  God,  sharing  in  all  her  new-born  hopes,  sym- 
pathizing in  all  her  doubts  and  fears,  was  the  one  object 
of  her  daily  thoughts  and  nightly  meditations.  How 
earnestly  did  she  pray  that  she  might  be  the  humble 
instrument  in  the  hands  of  her  heavenly  Father,  of  win- 
ning him  to  Jesus,  and  from  the  false  and  fading  plea- 
sures of  this  world  to  the  purer  and  nobler  joys  of 
heaven. 

She  was  well  aware  of  her  husband's  displeasure  at 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  263 

the  change  in  her  feelings,  and  also  of  the  views  he 
entertained  of  religion,  as  making  all  its  associates 
gloomy  and  morose,  conversing  entirely  upon  death  and 
similar  subjects.  She  well  remembered  the  time  when 
she  cherished  the  same  opinion.  She  therefore  deter- 
mined to  show  him,  what  was  really  the  case,  that  she 
never  before  was  so  happy. 

Thus  a  week  had  passed  away.  Henry  knew  not 
what  to  think.  Every  time  he  entered  his  home,  Mary 
appeared  more  and  more  cheerful.  She  rarely  allowed 
any  one  but  herself  to  open  the  door  to  his  well-known 
tap,  but  sprang  forward  to  throw  herself  into  his  arms. 

"  Dear  Harry,"  she  would  sometimes  say,  "  I  am  so. 
glad  you  have  come ;  I  have  been  watching  for  you 
some  minutes." 

Several  times  the  puzzled  husband  was  on  the  point 
of  acknowledging  that,  after  all,  she  wasn't  much 
changed,  but  he  checked  himself,  "  Wait  until  after  the 
Sabbath,"  he  soliloquized.  "  It  will  be  a  good  opportu- 
nity for  me  to  test  her  new  views."  The  Sabbath  had 
been  a  favorite  day  with  young  Stanwood,  because  he 
was  then  free  from  the  duties  of  his  office,  and  could 
spend  the  day  with  his  wife.  He  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  going  to  church  in  the  afternoon,  and  then  feeling 
that  he  had  kept  the  Sabbath,  would  take  a  stroll  after 
tea,  or  visit  some  neighbor  for  an  hour  or  two  of  friendly 
chat. 

Mary  was  also  looking  forward  to  the  Sabbath  with 
vaned  emotions.  It  would  be  her  first  celebration  of  the 
rest,  peace  and  joy,  which  at  the  close  of  the  last  holy 
day  dawned  upon  her  soul.  After  a  weary  struggle  of 


264  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

many  days,  she  had  retired  to  her  chamber,  at  the  hal- 
lowed hour  of  the  setting  sun,  and  there  had  cast  all  her 
burden  of  sin  upon  her  Saviour.  Her  spirit  fainted  for 
the  courts  of  the  Lord,  and  her  soul  was  filled  with  emo- 
tions like  those  which  inspired  the  Psalmist  when  he 
sung,  "  I  was  glad  when  they  said  unto  me,  let  us  go  into 
the  house  of  the  Lord."  But  these  emotions  were  not 
unmixed  with  anxiety  and  sorrow,  on  account  of  her 
dear  husband. 

She  came,  however,  from  her  closet  on  Saturday  eve- 
ning, feeling  that  her  duty  was  plain,  and  humbly  resting 
upon  an  Almighty  arm  for  strength  to  perform  it.  Could 
she  fail  ? 

Sabbath  morning  dawned  clear  and  bright.  It  had 
hitherto  been  their  habit  to  lie  in  bed  much  longer  than 
on  the  morning  of  other  days ;  and  Harry  slept  so  soundly 
that  Mary  crept  softly  from  his  side  without  disturbing 
him.  She  descended  to  the  kitchen,  where  Betsey,  tak- 
ing the  liberty  to  follow  the  example  of  her  master  and 
mistress,  had  but  just  lighted  the  fire.  Having  taken  spe- 
cial pains  with  the  coffee,  she  prepared,  with  her  own 
hands,  a  tempting  dish  for  her  dear  Harry.  She  charged 
the  girl  to  be  quiet  about  her  work,  and  repaired  to  a 
room  for  her  morning  devotions. 

An  hour  later  she  heard  her  husband  go  down  stairs, 
muttering  something  to  himself  in  no  pleasant  tone. 
She  flew  to  meet  him.  She  folded  her  arms  lovingly 
about  his  neck,  saying,  "  Isn't  this  a  delightful  day  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  so,"  he  replied,  gazing  intently  into  her 
face.  "  Mary,  what  have  you  been  doing  to  yourself  ? 
I  declare!  I  never  saw  you  look  half  so  handsome." 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  265 

Mary  hid  her  blushing  face  in  her  husband's  bosom, 
as  she  whispered,  "  It  is  because  I'm  so  very  happy." 
Her  tone  was  earnest,  but  serious ;  yet  he  made  no  re- 
ply. He  turned  at  once  into  the  breakfast  room.  He 
had  little  dreamed  what  an  ornament  religion  is.  He 
could  not  understand  that  the  pure  elevation  of  her 
brow,  the  brightness  of  her  eye,  and  the  heavenly  smile 
on  her  lips,  resulted  from  a  heart  at  peace  with  her 
Maker,  from  a  meek  and  quiet  spirit. 

"  Really,"  said  Harry,  as  he  sat  at  table,  "  Betsey  im- 
proves rapidly ;  I  never  drank  better  •  coffee,"  at  the 
same  time  passing  his  cup  to  be  refilled ;  "  and  this 
cream  toast  tastes  just  like  my  mother's,  I  must  praise 
her  for  it. 

Mary  smiled,  but  made  no  reply.  After  breakfast  she 
took  her  husband's  hand  and  led  him  to  the  parlor; 
though,  to  tell  the  truth,  she  felt  somewhat  embarrassed 
about  introducing  the  subject  upon  which  her  thoughts 
were  engaged.  She  led  him  to  a  large  rocking-chair, 
near  the  table,  and  sat  upon  his  knee. 

"  What  a  delightful  morning  this  will  be  to  walk  to 
church." 

"  Ah !  you  can't  get  round  me  in  that  way,"  said 
Harry  to  himself. 

Mary  was  a  skilful  tactician ;  a  look  in  her  husband's 
eye  warned  her  not  to  go  too  far.  She  reached  out  her 
hand  and  took  up  an  elegantly  bound  Bible,  which  he 
had  given  her  as  a  wedding  present,  and  which  he  re- 
garded only  as  a  necessary  appendage  to  the  centre 
table.  "What  a  beautiful  Bible!  I  don't  know  that 
23 


266  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

I  ever  thanked  you  for  it.  At  any  rate  I'll  do  it  again," 
and  she  kissed  her  thanks. 

Harry  unclasped  the  covers  and  admired  the  print, 
remarking  that  he  had  taken  great  pains  to  select  the 
best. 

"  Yes,"  she  returned,  "  how  very  plain  and  clear  the 
type  is,"  and  she  turned  to  the  beautiful  story  of  Ruth. 
Before  he  was  aware  Harry  was  listening  with  absorb- 
ing interest,  forgetting  entirely  that  this  day  was  the 
Sabbath,  and  this  book  the  word  of  God.  He  would 
not  allow  her  to  stop  until  she  had  finished  the  narra- 
tive, and  by  that  time  he  was  in  very  good  humor  with 
his  wife,  with  himself,  and  with  the  world. 

Mary  started  in  surprise  when  the  first  bell  rang,  say- 
ing, "  Please  excuse  me  now,  I  must  dress  for  church." 
When  she  came  down,  at  the  ringing  of  the  second  bell, 
almost  expecting  he  would  object  to  her  leaving  him, 
Henry  stood  brushing  his  hat,  as  he  tried  to  hide  his  face 
from  her  searching  glance. 

"  Dear  Harry,  are  you  going  with  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  you  don't  think  I  shall  let  you  tramp  off 
half  a  mile  alone.  Beside,  'twould  be  dull  music  here 
without  you." 

At  the  close  of  the  day  Harry  was  obliged  to  acknowl- 
edge that  something  had  improved  his  Mary.  "  For- 
merly, though  amiable  and  generally  yielding  in  her  dis- 
position, yet  she  had  too  long  been  petted  and  indulged 
as  an  only  child,  and  a  favorite  in  society,  not  to  be  dis- 
posed at  times  to  have  her  own  way.  When  thus  de- 
termined, Harry  had  found  he  must  yield.  Now  Mary's 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  267 

sole  object  seemed  to  be  to  give  him  proof  of  her  entire 
love. 

A  month  later,  invitations  were  given  out  for  the  larg- 
est party  of  the  season ;  and  it  was  to  close  with  a  ball. 
Poor  Mary  was  sorely  tried  as  to  her  duty.  She  had 
lost  all  relish  for  such  scenes.  She  felt  that  she  had 
wasted  far  too  much  time  in  them.  But  her  husband 
took  it  for  granted  she  would  accompany  him,  and  expa- 
tiated largely  upon  the  anticipated  pleasures.  At  length 
it  occurred  to  the  young  wife  to  consult  an  old  lady  who 
was  a  friend  of  her  mother's,  and  an  eminent  Christian. 
It  was  fortunate  for  her  that  she  so  wisely  chose  her 
confidant. 

Mrs.  Simons,  after  listening  with  great  interest  to  her 
young  friend,  advised  her  to  defer  her  own  wishes  to 
those  of  her  husband,  in  every  case  where  principle  was 
not  involved. 

"  Yes,"  she  eagerly  answered,  "  but  in  this  case  ?  " 

"  Has  he  expressed  his  wishes  ?  " 

"  He  never  commands  me.  It  is  unnecessary;  but  I 
presume  he  will  be  displeased  if  I  refuse  to  accompany 
him,  and  I  am  sure  he  will  be  disappointed." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  your  own  good  sense  will  enable  you 
to  decide.  If  you  should  tell  him  frankly  you  have  lost 
all  interest  in  such  scenes,  and  ask  him  to  excuse  you, 
he  will  probably  do  so. 

Encouraged  by  this  view  of  the  case,  Mary  returned 
home,  and  taking  an  early  opportunity,  begged  her  hus- 
band to  allow  her  to  remain  at  home. 

"Pshaw!"  was  the  impatient  reply,  "don't  let  me 
hear  any  such  nonsense.  I  was  just  beginning  to  think 


268  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

religion  was  nothing  so  very  terrible  after  all,  when  you 
begin  with  all  this  Methodist  cant.  But  I  can't  say,  it 
is  entirely  unexpected.  Religion  spoils  a  person  for  every 
enjoyment.  If  you  go  on  so,"  he  continued,  after  a 
pause,  keeping  his  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  his  book, 
"  you'll  prejudice  me  against  it  more  than  ever." 

This  was  a  sad  trial  to  the  sweet  loving  heart,  that 
had  begun  to  pray  so  earnestly  for  her  husband's  conver- 
sion. She  brushed  back  the  tears  which  had  gathered  in 
her  eyes,  and  said  in  a  low  musical  voice,  "  Dear  Harry, 
though  I  do  not  enjoy  such  scenes  as  I  once  did,  and 
should  much  prefer  a  pleasant  evening  with  you  in  our 
own  sweet  home  ;  yet  if  you  wish  it,  I  will  sacrifice  my 
feelings  and  go  with  you.  But  I  wish,  dear  husband,  you 
would  excuse  me." 

Harry  happened  at  that  moment  to  think  of  some- 
thing he  needed  very  quickly  in  the  next  room.  Mary 
was  much  disappointed.  But  her  mind  was  clear  that 
in  this  case  it  would  be  better  for  her  to  comply  with  his 
•wish.  As  her  husband  had  now  left  for  his  office,  there 
was  no  opportunity  for  farther  conversation  upon  the 
subject ;  and  she  retired  to  her  room  to  dress  for  the 
evening. 

It  must  be  remembered  that  Mary  had  for  many  years 
been  in  the  habit  of  frequenting  such  scenes,  having 
never  had  their  injurious  tendency  pointed  out  to  her, 
and  now  only  regarded  them  as  a  waste  of  time  which 
might  be  more  profitably  and  pleasantly  employed,  rather 
than  as  sinful. 

When  she  was  nearly  ready,  with  a  low  tap  Mr.  Stan- 
wood  entered  the  room. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OP    WEDDED    LIFE.  269 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  sweet  smile.  "  Does  my 
dress  suit  you,  Harry  ?" 

"  You  were  never  more  lovely  in  my  eyes."  She  held 
out  her  beautifully  rounded  arm  for  him  to  clasp  the 
bracelet.  He  did  it  mechanically,  without  speaking. 

"Is  it  time  to  go?"  she  pleasantly  asked,  trying  to 
bring  a  smile  to  his  face. 

He  walked  toward  the  window.  "  I  fear  it  is  growing 
damp,  and  you  already  have  some  cold." 

"  Oh,  no !  my  dear,  I  am  perfectly  well,"  she  replied  in 
surprise. 

"  Well,  on  the  whole,  I  don't  think  it  will  be  prudent 
for  you  to  venture  out.  You  will  be  sure  to  have  a  sore 
throat."  Mary  just  began  to  have  an  inkling  of  the 
truth.  «  And  will  you  excuse  me  really  ?  "  she  asked  in 
a  gay  tone. 

Henry  walked  to  the  window.  He  appeared  to  have 
a  very  sore  throat,  for  his  voice  was  extremely  husky. 
Mary  crossed  the  room  and  kissed  his  forehead,  "  my  own 
dear  Harry,"  she  whispered. 

Mr.  Stanwood  soon  retired  to  make  his  toilet,  and 
Mary  took  an  interesting  book  and  sat  down  to  read. 
«  How  pleasant,"  she  thought,  « it  would  be  if  Harry 
didn't  care  to  go,  and  would  read  to  me,  while  I  sew." 
Her  eye  grew  dreamy  as  she  gazed  into  the  future,  and 
saw  a  pleasant  fire,  a  table  covered  with  books,  near  by 
which  she  sat  busily  engaged  with  her  work,  while  her 
husband  sat  by  her,  reading  and  talking  by  turns.  There 
was  a  vision  too  of  a  cradle  standing  near,  and  a  sweet 
babe  asleep  in  it.  Her  reverie  was  suddenly  interrupted 
23* 


270  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

by  her  husband  who  entered,  saying,  "  Don't  sit  up  for 
me,  Mary,  I  may  be  late." 

She  looked  up  in  his  face  so  bright  and  cheerful  that 
he  thought,  "  how  foolish  for  me  to  leave  her ! "  But  pride 
said,  "  go,"  and  he  went 

Dear  girl !  He  had  no  sooner  gone,  than  she  laid  down 
her  book,  and  kneeling  by  the  side  of  her  chair,  poured 
out  a  most  earnest  prayer  for  her  dear  young  husband. 
When  she  arose,  she  felt  assured  that  her  prayer  would 
be  answered. 

Not  more  than  half  an  hour  had  elapsed  when  she 
heard  the  outer  door  softly  open,  (he  had  taken  the  night- 
key,)  and  a  light  footstep  across  the  hall.  She  looked  up 
to  see  her  husband  stealing  behind  her  for  a  surprise. 

"  Oh!"  said  she  joyfully,  "  I  am  so  glad  you've  come 
back.  I  was  just  wishing  you  were  here." 

He  kissed  her  tenderly,  as  he  said,  "  You've  con- 
quered, Mary ;  I  found  in  leaving  you,  I  had  left  happi- 
ness." 

Six  months  passed  away ;  Mary's  vision  was  in  part 
realized.  A  lovely  infant  lay  by  her  side,  calling  forth 
from  her  gentle  heart  such  a  gush  of  tenderness,  that  she 
was  almost  too  happy.  Harry  felt  a  father's  pride  in 
gazing  at  then:  new  and  precious  treasure  ;  but  soon  find- 
ing the  house  lonely,  now  that  Mary  was  confined  to  her. 
room,  he  gradually  acquired  a  habit  of  staying  out  dur- 
ing the  evening.  Nor  when  Mary  was  again  able  to  go 
below,  did  he  give  up  this  habit,  and  sometimes  pro- 
tracted his  stay  until  near  midnight 

It  needed  all  the  young  wife's  native  cheerfulness, 
added  to  her  absorbing  love  for  her  darling  boy,  to  keep 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  271 

her  from  sinking  under  this  new  trial.  Once  or  twice 
when  she  in  the  kindest  manner  begged  him  to  tell  her 
where  he  had  been,  he  answered  her  in  such  an  irritable 
tone  and  manner,  that  she  determined  to  question  him 
no  more.  But  her  faith  was  sorely  tried ;  and  when  she 
endeavored  to  pray,  the  thought  of  the  sad,  sad  change 
in  her  husband  made  her  almost  despair. 

Yet  he  was  not  generally,  or  even  often  unkind. 
Sometimes  he  seemed  to  feel  ashamed  of  his  harshness, 
and  once  when  he  left  her  in  displeasure,  and  had 
thrown  out  some  taunt  at  her  religion,  he  returned,  evi- 
dently expecting  and  feeling  that  he  had  deserved  her 
anger.  But  the  forgiving  wife  looked  up  so  cheerfully  at 
his  entrance,  that  he  reproached  himself  bitterly  for  his 
conduct. 

Then  he  noticed  that  she  had  grown  very  pale,  and 
the  thought,  "what  if  I  should  lose  her?"  shot  like  a 
dart  through  his  breast.  Softened  and  subdued  by  it,  he 
confessed  his  sorrow  to  her.  He  told  her  what  she  had 
long  suspected  was  true,  that  the  young  men  of  his  ac- 
quaintance had  formed  a  club,  and  while  she  was  sick 
had  induced  him  to  join,  for  the  sake  of  passing  away 
his  lonely  evenings.  They  told  him  he  could  leave  any 
time  ;  but  when  he  had  repeatedly  proposed  doing  so,  they 
had  sneered  at  his  wife's  influence,  and  ridiculed  him  for 
being  in  her  leading  strings.  They  said,  they  supposed 
since  she  had  become  religious,  she  thought  it  was 
wicked  for  her  husband  to  enjoy  himself,  or  to  do  any- 
thing but  pray. 

Mary  had  bowed  her  head  over  her  babe  to  conceal 


272  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

her  tears ;  but  when  he  stopped,  she  looked  up,  saying, 
"  Dear  Harry,  do  you  call  the  society  of  such  men  enjoy- 
ment?" Now  for  the  first  time  in  his  presence,  she 
burst  into  a  passionate  fit  of  weeping. 

Mr.  Stanwood  was  much  distressed,  and  tried  to 
soothe  her  by  promises  of  amendment,  in  which  he  was, 
at  the  time,  really  sincere. 

For  several  weeks,  he  passed  every  evening  at  home 
with  Mary,  except  when  absolutely  engaged  in  his  office, 
Sometimes  he  brought  his  law  books,  and  having  in- 
terested his  wife  in  the  case,  looked  out  his  authorities 
in  her  presence.  Mary's  heart  was  buoyed  with  hope ; 
and  she  endeavored  by  every  means  in  her  power  to 
make  his  home  attractive  and  happy. 

But  alas,  for  resolutions  of  amendment,  when  the  only 
strength  for  keeping  them  is  in  a  depraved  heart !  Mr. 
Stanwood  one  day  met  a  member  of  the  club,  who  im- 
mediately attacked  him  for  leaving  them  so  unceremo- 
niously. They  had  missed  him  extremely.  Harry  mut- 
tered something  about  pressing  engagements. 

"  There  !  I  told  them  so,"  exclaimed  the  young  man. 
"  But  some  of  them  would  have  it  that  you  dared  not 
come;  that  your  handsome  wife  had  found  you  out, 
and  forbidden  your  being  in  the  society  of  such  ungodly, 
graceless  fellows  as  she  thinks  us  to  be." 

Harry's  face  was  crimson  as  he  denied  the  charge; 
and  he  was  easily  induced  to  be  present  the  ensuing  eve- 
ning. He  meant  to  prove  to  them  that  he  was  not  afraid  of 
wounding  the  gentle,  loving  heart  which  beat  so  tenderly 
for  him,  and  which  sighed  and  prayed  so  earnestly  for 
his  best  welfare.  He  meant  to  show  them  that  he  pre- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  273 

ferred  their  coarse  songs,  and  still  coarser  jokes  and 
sallies  of  wit,  to  her  pure  and  chaste  affection  and 
society. 

As  he  sat  in  his  office  the  day  following  this  inter- 
view, he  found  it  impossible  to  confine  his  attention  to 
his  business.  In  vain  he  looked  over  the  notes  he  had 
made  of  a  case  he  was  to  plead  at  the  next  term  of 
court ;  in  vain  he  took  down  Blackstone,  Chitty,  and 
other  law  books  from  the  shelves  to  consult  the  authori- 
ties. Wherever  he  looked,  he  could  only  see  the  image 
of  his  lovely  wife,  pale  and  sad,  bending  over  her  babe 
to  conceal  her  tears. 

"  Pshaw  ! "  said  he,  angrily  throwing  down  his  books, 
"what  a  fool  I  am  making  of  myself;"  and  the  crimson 
again  dyed  his  cheeks,  as  he  remembered  the  insulting 
language  of  his  club  companion.  "  I  despise  them  all," 
said  he  aloud ;  "  yet,  I  could  n't  have  them  suppose  I'm 
afraid  of  my  wife." 

Here  he  fell  into  a  long  reverie,  in  which  his  feelings 
and  emotions  were  so  conflicting  and  varied  that  he 
never  could  accurately  describe  them.  Sometimes  he 
wished  that  he  were  free  from  the  whole  set  (meaning 
the  club) ;  for  he  never  found  any  real  enjoyment  in 
meeting  with  them.  To  strengthen  this  feeling,,  his 
thoughts  recurred  to  a  remark  he  overheard  from  a  dis- 
tinguished citizen,  on  the  street.  He  had  passed  two 
gentlemen  who  were  conversing  on  the  side-walk,  when 
he  accidentally  stopped  to  look  at  a  print  in  the  window 
of  a  store,  and  heard  one  of  them  say :  "  When  Stan- 
wood  first  came  into  town,  I  prophesied  he  'd  make  a 
capital  attorney ;  he  has  a  shrewd  tact  for  the  business ; 


274  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

but  his  idea  of  collecting  a  practice  by  going  to  parties 
and  balls  is  all  folly.  They  may  like  him  for  a  com- 
panion ;  but,  depend  upon  it,  men  of  sense,  when  they 
want  their  business  done,  will  go  to  a  lawyer  who 
keeps  at  home,  or  in  his  office,  studying  his  profession." 

"  I  hope  he  will  succeed,  for  the  sake  of  his  lovely 
wife,"  was  the  reply. 

How  well  he  remembered  the  surprise  of  Mary,  as  he 
went  home,  chafed  and  irritated  by  these  remarks,  and 
abruptly  shook  her  off  as  she  approached  him  for  a 
caress. 

Then  the  idea  flashed  through  his  brain,  "  "Would  not 
Mary  be  delighted  if  I  should  become  religious ! "  But 
here  all  was  chaos.  He  had  not  a  single  right  idea  upon 
the  subject.  He  began  by  thinking  he  was  a  very  moral, 
good  man,  who  had  never  done  any  harm,  —  far  better 
than  the  generality  of  young  men.  But  he  was  sud- 
denly checked  in  his  self-gratulation  by  an  impulse  of 
the  Spirit 

Who  shall  say  it  was  not  in  answer  to  the  prayers  of 
his  Mary  ?  A  mirror  was  held  up  before  him  in  which 
he  saw  a  young  man,  endowed  by  Providence  with 
talents,  yet  refusing  to  acknowledge  his  indebtedness 
for  them  ;  blessed  with  a  lovely  wife  and  child,  yet 
treating  the  one  with  abuse,  the  other  with  neglect 
Then  misspent  privileges,  broken  Sabbaths,  violations 
of  God's  holy  commandments  passed  before  him,  until 
he  was  obliged  to  hide  his  face  to  shut  out  the  hideous 
sight  presented  to  his  view. 

From  imagining  that  he  was  far  above  his  com- 
panions in  virtue  and  goodness,  he  now  loathed  himself 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  275 

as  a  vile  sinner.  One  point  was  settled ;  —  he  would 
perform  his  promise,  and  meet  with  the  club  that  eve- 
ning, and  then  leave  them  forever.  He  no  longer  cared 
for  their  scoffs. 

On  his  way  home,  he  debated  the  question  of  an- 
nouncing his  resolution  to  his  wife.  He  finally  con- 
cluded not  to  pain  her  by  doing  so,  but  to  leave  early, 
and  then  she  would  suppose  him  to  be  at  his  office. 
Accordingly,  he  was  more  than  usually  tender  in  his 
manner  toward  Mary,  who  had  never  volunteered  any 
marks  of  affection  since  he  had  treated  her  so  rudely;* 
and  remarking  that  he  should  not  be  long  absent,  left 
the  house. 

The  first  part  of  the  evening  passed  quickly  away. 
Mrs.  Stanwood  had  brought  out  her  husband's  slippers, 
wheeled  his  favorite  chair  to  the  table,  and  having 
soothed  her  babe  to  sleep,  sat,  awaiting  his  return. 

But  hour  after  hour  passed,  and  he  came  not.  She 
laid  aside  her  work,  and  took  a  book  to  beguile  her 
anxious  thoughts.  It  would  even  have  been  a  relief  to 
her  if  she  had  thought  of  the  club ;  but  from  her  hus- 
band's remark  that  he  should  soon  be  home,  she  feared 
he  must  have  met  with  some  accident.  Dreading,  she 
knew  not  what,  she  trembled  at  every  sound ;  and  as  the 
clock  struck  twelve,  she  could  endure  it  no  longer.  She 
ran  through  the  hall,  threw  open  the  door,  and  stood 
gazing  into  the  darkness.  Not  a  light  could  be  seen ; 
not  a  sound  heard ;  and  after  standing  until  she  was 
thoroughly  chilled  by  the  night  air,  she  shut  the  door, 
and  with  a  heavy  heart  returned  to  her  room. 


276  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

After  leaning  her  head  for  a  few  minutes  upon  the 
table,  she  retired  into  an  inner  room. 

But  where  was  Mr.  Stanwood  ?  Alas,  alas  !  he  was 
otill  in  the  midst  of  the  club,  where,  by  turns,  the  Bible 
ind  the  God  of  the  Bible  were  scoffed  at  and  ridiculed  ; 
and  where  he  who  had  so  lately  been  visited  by  the  in- 
fluences of  the  gracious  Spirit,  laughed  louder  than  any 
of  his  companions.  At  ten  o'clock,  he  proposed  to 
leave,  but  they  earnestly  protested  that  they  would  not 
consent,  unless  his  wife  had  forbidden  his  being  out  late. 

He  immediately  resumed  his  seat,  and  determined  to 
be  the  last  in  the  room.  At  length  the  members  dis- 
persed, and  Harry  was  left  to  make  his  way  home,  with 
reflections  which  certainly  none  would  envy. 

He  hoped  and  expected  to  find  Mary  asleep.  But 
could  h e  sleep  ?  An  accusing  conscience  answered  "  no  !  " 
He  gained  the  door,  and  softly  applying  the  night-key, 
entered  the  house. 

All  was  silent  as  the  grave.  Taking  off  his  hat  and 
boots,  he  crept  up  stairs  toward  his  room,  where  a  low, 
murmuring  sound  arrested  his  attention. 

He  stopped  and  listened.  It  was  Mary's  voice.  Who 
could  she  be  talking  with  at  that  hour  ?  He  took  a  few 
steps  forward  and  gained  the  room.  She  was  not  there. 
He  listened  again.  What  was  it  which  suddenly  bowed 
the  knees  of  this  strong  man,  and  caused  the  tears  to 
gush  so  freely  from  his  eyes  ?  He  heard  Mary,  his  neg- 
lected, insulted  wife,  alone,  and  at  midnight,  telling  Jesus 
her  sorrows,  and  with  tears  beseeching  Him  to  comfort 
and  strengthen  her  fainting  heart  for  the  trials  which  yet 
awaited  her. 


OR,  THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  277 

He  heard  her  pray  that  the  Holy  Spirit  might  send 
conviction  into  his  soul,  that  he  might  repent  of  all  his 
sins,  and  find  pardon  and  peace  in  believing  in  Jesus. 
Mary  wept  aloud  as  she  prayed  that  she  might  exhibit  a 
spirit  of  meekness  and  forbearance  toward  her  compan- 
ion, that  she  might  win  back  the  affection  which  was 
estranged  from  her,  and  that  they  might  live  together  in 
harmony  and  love. 

Jesus,  her  elder  brother,  heard  and  answered.  The 
sword  of  the  Spirit  had  entered  her  husband's  heart,  and 
was  penetrating  even  to  the  secret  recesses.  He  groaned 
aloud. 

Mary,  in  affright,  started  to  her  feet.  She  saw  him 
penitent  and  humbled  in  view  of  his  sins.  She  read 
passages  of  Scripture.  She  pointed  him  to  the  bleeding, 
crucified  Saviour.  The  night  was  spent  by  them  in 
earnest,  importunate  prayer.  Mary  wrestled  like  Jacob 
for  a  blessing ;  the  language  of  her  heart  was,  "  I  will 
not  let  thee  go  except  thou  bless  me." 

When,  the  next  morning,  the  natural  sun  arose,  the 
Sun  of  Righteousness  also  shone  upon  the  mind  of  Henry 
Stanwood;  and  though  its  glorious  light  revealed  a 
heart  where  sin  and  iniquity  had  abounded,  it  also 
showed  9ne  whose  stains  had  been  washed  away  by 
atoning  blood. 

24 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

THE  SECOND  MARRIAGE. 

IT  was  a  delightful  Sabbath  morning  in  October.  The 
first  bells  were  ringing  for  church,  and  even  at  this  early 
hour  the  villagers  began  to  assemble  in  the  house  of 
God,  while  their  whole  appearance  indicated  a  joyful 
but  subdued  expectancy  of  some  unusual  event  And 
they  are  not  destined  to  be  disappointed. 

As  the  clock  strikes  ten,  a  party  are  seen  emerging 
from  the  parsonage,  and  making  their  way  slowly  to  the 
church.  There  is  quite  a  procession ;  first,  Squire  and 
Mrs.  Wells,  then  Rev.  Mr.  Warren  with  his  wife  and 
sister ;  after  them  follow  Henry  and  Susan,  Eleanor  and 
Mr.  Norton,  Bessie  and  Mr.  Seymour,  Thomas  and 
Laura,  Gracie,  Edward,  and  George  Wells,  then  the 
children  of  Mrs.  Gordon  under  the  care  of  Nora  bring 
up  the  rear.  Mrs.  Hammond  and  Mrs.  Hall,  with  her 
good  husband,  are  already  seated  in  the  house,  together 

with  many  friends  from  B ,  awaiting  the  ceremony 

which  is  to  follow.  The  Squire,  with  his  family,  take 
seats  in  the  front  pew  on  the  right  of  the  pulpit ;  Mrs. 
Warren,  on  the  left ;  while  the  good  pastor  occupies  one 
of  the  chairs  before  the  pulpit.  The  three  couples  then 
presented  themselves  before  him,  each  to  be  united  in 
the  holy  bands  of  wedlock.  After  a  short  prayer,  Henry 
and  Susan  advanced  to  the  altar,  when  the  minister 

(278) 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  279 

says,  "  Henry,  wilt  thou  have  this  woman  for  thy  wedded 
wife  ?  —  etc.,  to  which  he  responds  firmly,  "  I  will." 

"  Susan,  wilt  thou  have  this  man  to  be  thy  wedded 
husband?"  etc. 

Susan,  who  with  great  difficulty  can  keep  back  her 
tears,  for  thoughts  of  a  former  similar  scene  crowd  her 
mind,  is  only  able  to  bow  her  assent. 

"  Then,  in  the  presence  of  God  and  these  witnesses,  I 
pronounce  you  husband  and  wife,  and  what  God  has 
joined  together,  let  no  man  put  asunder." 

The  newly  married  pair  then  give  place  to  Eleanor 
and  Edgar  Norton,  who  in  turn  do  the  same  for  Bessie 
and  Walter  Seymour,  when  having  received  the  bene- 
diction, the  congregation  quietly  take  seats  in  their  own 
pews,  as  the  second  bell  has  rung,  and  it  is  time  for  the 
public  services  to  commence. 

In  the  afternoon,  Henry  preached  for  his  father-in-law, 
who  was  much  overcome  by  the  services  of  the  morning. 

Early  the  next  day,  the  bridal  party,  accompanied  by 
Thomas  and  Laura,  and  also  by  Mrs.  Hammond,  Nora 
and  the  children,  left  for  New  York,  where  after  leaving 
the  latter  in  the  care  of  her  aunt,  they  proceeded  to  Ni- 
agara. 

On  their  way  to  the  city,  they  were  unexpectedly  de- 
tained one  day  in  Cheswell,  the  residence  of  Mr.  Stan- 
wood.  Thomas  and  Laura  eagerly  embraced  the  oppor- 
tunity to  call  upon  them,  when  Mary  finding  the  party 
were  staying  at  the  public  house,  cordially  invited  them 
all  to  pass  the  day  with  her.  To  this  they  would  by  no 
means  consent;  but  leaving  Mrs.  Hammond  who  re- 
quired rest,  in  the  care  of  Nora,  the  three  brides  with 


280  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

their  grooms,  passed  a  pleasant  evening  under  the  hospit- 
able roof.  After  living  over  in  imagination  many  of 
their  college  scenes,  the  conversation  became  more  gen- 
eral, and  Mr.  Wells,  as  well  as  his  brother-in-law,  was 
delighted  to  find  such  abundant  evidence  as  this  unex- 
pected meeting  afforded,  that  the  change  in  the  religious 
sentiments  of  their  college  friend,  was  genuine.  All  the 
party  agreed  in  declaring  Mrs.  Stan  wood  a  lovely  lady 
and  a  winning  wife. 

On  the  return  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  Wells  and  his  lady 
to  New  York  city,  the  ordination  took  place ;  which 
event  was  followed  by  numerous  calls  from  the  people. 

For  the  two  years  during  which  she  had  resided  with 
her  aunt,  Mrs.  Wells  had  chosen  to  live  in  a  veiy  retired 
manner,  and  to  devote  herself  entirely  to  her  family. 
This  mode  of  life  was  much  more  congenial  to  her  taste, 
than  the  more  active  one  which  she  now  anticipated ;  but 
as  while  the  wife  of  a  country  clergyman,  she  had  inter- 
ested herself  in  the  people  of  her  husband's  charge,  so 
here  she  determined  to  do  the  same.  Among  those  who 
called  soon  after  her  return,  were  many  families  from 
whose  acquaintance  she  anticipated  great  profit  as  well 
as  pleasure.  Of  some  of  them  we  shall  give  a  more  par- 
ticular account,  as  illustrating  the  moral  of  our  story. 

The  little  girls  were  now  seven  years  old,  and  as  her 
time  would  be  so  much  occupied  for  the  winter  in  receiv- 
ing and  returning  calls,  their  mother  determined  to  place 
them  in  a  select  school.  Frederic  she  preferred  should 
remain  under  her  own  influence  and  that  of  her  husband. 
During  their  absence  on  their  wedding  tour,  Nora  at  the 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  281 

suggestion  of  Mrs.  Hammond  prepared  the  children  for 
the  change  which  had  taken  place,  and  which  on  their 
journey  they  could  hardly  realize.  She  also  persuaded 
them  to  practise  calling  Mr.  Wells,  papa,  so  that  when 
their  parents  returned  it  came  quite  natural  for  them  to 
do  so,  though  sometimes  Frederic  in  his  enthusiasm  or 
haste  to  impart  some  news,  exclaimed,  "  Mr.  Wells,"  be- 
fore he  thought  of  the  new  relation. 

When  he  did  so,  however,  he  found  his  father  afflicted 
with  a  sudden  deafness  which  prevented  any  attention  to 
what  he  was  saying.  But  as  soon  as  the  boy  bethought 
himself  and  added,  "  oh,  I  forgot,  I  meant  papa! "  he  found 
his  parent's  hearing  restored.  This  practice  soon  proved 
an  infallible  cure. 

When  Mr.  Wells  married  a  widow  with  children,  he 
intended  to  be  in  all  respects  a  father  to  them.  Many 
and  earnest  were  the  conversations  between  him  and  his 
wife  in  regard  to  this  subject,  and  if  anything  could  have 
increased  the  wife's  affection  and  respect  for  her  new 
husband,  it  was  the  untiring  zeal  he  displayed  in  regard 
to  the  dear  objects  of  her  love.  Helen  and  Fanny  con- 
tinued mild  and  yielding.  When  they  did  wrong  no 
punishment  was  so  severe  as  separation  from  each  other's 
society,  and  this  was  seldom  necessary.  Frederic  as  he 
grew  older,  proved  every  day  that  he  needed  a  firm, 
steady  government. 

The  passionate  bursts  of  temper  which  had  occasioned 
his  mother  so  much  anxiety,  had  of  late  seemed  to  in- 
crease rather  than  diminish.  At  the  most  trifling  inter- 
ference with  his  wishes  on  the  part  of  his  sisters  or  his 
nurse,  he  flew  into  a^perfect  fury  of  passion,  before  which 
24* 


282  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES. 

they  found  it  best  to  give  way.  This  seldom  lasted  long, 
and  was  always  succeeded  by  great  grief  for  the  injury 
he  had  committed.  He  was  always  ready  to  express 
this  sorrow  and  beg  for  forgiveness,  and  often  the  im- 
pression made  upon  him  by  his  mother's  tears  and  pray- 
ers in  his  behalf  was  so  great,  that  for  days  he  was  sub- 
dued and  softened. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE  STEP-FATHER. 

ONE  day  about  three  months  after  his  marriage,  Mr. 
Wells  was  called  from  his  study  by  a  loud  cry  from  one 
of  the  twins.  Knowing  that  their  mother  was  at  her 
brother's,  he  went  below  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the 
scream.  A  scene  of  confusion  met  his  eye,  such  as  he 
had  never  seen  or  imagined.  Every  chair  in  the  room 
was  thrown  down,  the  ornaments  from  the  mantel-piece 
were  lying  about  the  apartment,  as  were  also  the  books 
from  a  table  in  the  corner,  while  master  Frederic  with  a 
flushed  face  and  a  determined  air,  was  tearing  into 
pieces  a  toy  which  had  been  presented  him  the  previous 
day.  In  the  closet  stood  Nora,  applying  a  wet  cloth  to 
the  forehead  of  Fanny,  who  had  received  a  violent  blow 
from  her  infuriated  brother,  while  Helen  clung  closely  to 
her  side,  by  turns  weeping  and  soothing  her  distressed 
sister. 

For  one  instant  the  father's  heart  quailed  as  his  eye 
rested  on  the  scene ;  but  lifting  up  a  petition  for  guid- 
ance, he  advanced  to  the  boy,  and  gently  taking  him  by 
the  hand,  raised  him  to  his  feet.  "  Stop,  my  son,"  said 
he,  in  a  low,  determined  voice,  "  stop  tearing  that." 

"  It's  mine,"  answered  the  boy  fiercely,  "  and  you  are 
not  my  mother." 

(283) 


284  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

"  No ;  but  I  am  your  father,  and  you  must  obey  me. 
Stop,  at  once." 

Frederic  glanced  into  his  father's  face,  but  seeing, 
him  to  ah1  appearance  perfectly  calm,  little  compre- 
hended the  deep  undercurrent  of  emotion  called  forth 
by  his  conduct,  and  replied :  "  I  say  you  are  not  my 
father.  He  is  dead ;  I  loved  him,  but  I  do  not  love  you, 
and  you  may  go  away  from  here  as  quick  as  you 
please." 

"  Oh !  Master  Frederic,"  Nora  exclaimed,  "  don't  talk 
so,  it  will  make  your  mamma  cry." 

Mr.  Wells,  finding  there  was  likely  to  be  a  contest, 
took  him  in  his  arms  and  carried  him  to  his  own  cham- 
ber ;  though  in  doing  so  the  struggles  of  the  angry  boy 
required  an  exertion  of  all  his  strength.  When  there,  he 
placed  him  in  a  large  chair  with  the  injunction  to  re- 
main quiet.  But  finding  him  determined  not  to  obey, 
he  took  half  a  dozen  napkins  from  the  drawer,  and  tied 
him  in  such  a  manner  that  he  could  neither  move  his 
hands  nor  feet. 

His  voice  was  so  mild,  and  his  whole  manner  so  dif- 
ferent from  that  of  his  tearful  mother,  that  the  boy 
thought,  "  I  shall  conquer  yet." 

"  My  son,"  said  he,  sitting  by  his  side,  "  I  am  sorry 
that  you,  by  your  bad  conduct,  compel  me  to  take  such 
measures  with  you.  You  have  severely  injured  your 
little  sister,  who  is  uniformly  kind  and  obliging  to  you. 
I  fear  the  blow  she  has  received  will  make  her  ill.  From 
your  mother  I  have  heard  that  you  are  in  the  habit  of 
giving  way  to  your  passion  at  the  most  trivial  cause; 
but  I  never  conceived  anything  so  dreadful  as  what 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  285 

has  occurred  to  day.  It  is  by  her  wish  as  well  as  from 
my  affection  for  you,  and  the  relation  you  now  bear  to 
me,  that  I  shall  take  you  in  charge.  You  must  remain 
here  until  I  see  fit  to  release  you.  I  am  now  going  to 
attend  to  your  sister,  and  I  hope  you  will  pass  the  time 
in  reflections  upon  your  conduct." 

Not  a  word  had  the  child  spoken  while  his  father  ad- 
dressed him ;  but  as  soon  as  he  opened  the  door  to  go 
out,  Frederic  heard  his  mother's  voice,  and  began  to 
scream  aloud  :  "  Mamma,  mamma ! " 

Mrs.  Wells  had  already  been  informed,  by  Nora,  of 
what  had  occurred.  The  sympathizing  girl  also  begged 
her  mistress  to  go  herself  and  attend  to  her  child,  saying, 
"  Of  course,  it  can't  be  expected  he  '11  feel  for  him,  like 
the  one  who  has  the  same  blood  in  him;  'tis  n't  natur." 

But  Mrs.  Wells  assured  her  that  no  one  could  be  more 
gentle  with  the  boy  than  his  father ;  and  that,  if  he  ever 
hoped  or  expected  to  gain  an  influence  over  his  child,  he 
must  make  him  yield  now." 

When  Mr.  Wells  descended  the  stairs,  he  met  her 
leading  Fanny  up  to  her  room,  supposing  him  to  be  in 
the  study.  After  going  with  her  into  an  adjoining 
chamber,  and  attending  to  the  child  in  a  manner  which 
proved  to  her  that  he  possessed  the  tender  heart  of  a 
father,  he  requested  her  to  give  orders  that  no  one 
should  go  to  Frederic,  and  then  to  join  him  in  the  study. 

"  After  half  an  hour  passed  in  earnest  conversation 
about  the  child,  and  in  prayer  by  the  father  that  he 
might  be  governed  solely  by  a  desire  for  his  child's 
good,  he  left  his  wife  in  tears  and  proceeded  once 
more  to  the  chamber. 


286  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

It  is  unnecessary  to  relate  all  that  passed  during  that 
long  day,  when  Mr.  Wells  was  so  much  agitated  that 
he  could  not  devote  a  moment  to  study,  though  it  was 
near  the  close  of  the  week,  and  his  sermons  were  still 
unfinished.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  it  was  a  day  of  pain- 
ful solicitude  to  every  member  of  the  family.  Indeed,  a 
stranger  might  have  supposed  death  had  entered  the 
habitation,  so  silent  and  sad  was  every  countenance. 
Never  before  had  the  boy  been  known  to  stand  out  so 
long  against  authority,  and  the  necessity  that  he  should 
be  made  to  yield  was  obvious  to  all.  Repeatedly  had 
his  father  repaired  to  the  chamber,  and  tenderly  inquired 
if  he  were  ready  to  submit  to  him,  to  confess  his  sin,  and 
ask  forgiveness  of  his  sister,  and  of  his  heavenly  Father, 
whom  he  had  greatly  offended. 

"  I  don't  love  you  ;  and  I  want  my  mother,"  was  the 
only  reply. 

"  But  I  love  you,  my  son.  If  your  own  father  could 
speak,  he  would  urge  me  to  persevere  in  what  is  so  try- 
ing to  my  feelings,  and  to  compel  you  to  obey.  I  shall 
do  so,  whether  it  takes  a  longer  or  a  shorter  time.  I 
shall  certainly  do  what  I  know  to  be  my  duty."  He 
again  represented  to  him  the  consequences  of  giving 
way  to  such  an  ungovernable  temper,  and  the  danger  his 
sisters  and  friends  incurred  by  being  in  his  society.  He 
related  instances  of  children  who  had  deprived  their 
companions  of  sight  while  in  a  rage,  or  otherwise  seri- 
ously injured  them;  but  when  after  being  encouraged 
to  hope,  from  his  quiet  attention,  that  the  conflict  was 
over,  and  he  repeated  the  question,  "will  you  obey 
me  ?  "  the  answer  was  either  the  same  as  before,  or  a 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  287 

decided  shake  of  the  head.  Mrs.  Wells  had  wept  until 
she  had  brought  on  a  violent  head-ache;  but  she  re- 
peatedly urged  her  husband  to  persevere,  and  encouraged 
him  to  hope  for  the  most  favorable  results,  if  he  once 
established  his  authority.  Several  persons  called  during 
the  day ;  but  the  pastor  denied  himself  to  all.  With  his 
own  hands  he  carried  to  the  chamber  food,  such  as  was 
eaten  at  the  table,  and  himself  offered  to  feed  the  boy ; 
but  the  obstinate  child  would  not  consent. 

Mrs.  Wells,  at  her  husband's  desire,  had  given  orders 
that  no  one  should  go  into  her  chamber ;  but  this  order 
had  not  extended  to  the  cook,  who  seldom  entered  that 
part  of  the  house.  At  least,  if  she  understood  the  in- 
junction, she  disobeyed  it;  for  putting  a  large  plum- 
cake  under  her  apron,  she  watched  an  opportunity  when 
Mrs.  Wells  was  below,  and  carried  it  to  her  favorite. 
But  the  child  honorably  refused  to  take  it  without  his 
father's  permission,  and  the  cook,  forgetting  that  the  fact 
of  its  being  there  would  betray  her,  threw  it  down 
hastily,  and  ran  away  upon  hearing  a  step  on  the 
stairs. 

«  Who  has  been  here,  my  son  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Wells, 
picking  the  rich  cake  from  the  floor;  for  one  instant 
fearing  the  fondness  of  the  mother  had  prevailed  over 
her  better  judgment. 

"  Bridget,"  answered  the  boy,  promptly.  "  She  brought 
the  cake  to  me ;  but  I  told  her  you  had  forbidden  any 
one  to  come  here,  and  I  would  n't  take  it." 

Mr.  Wells  turned  hastily  aside  to  dash  a  tear  from  his 
eye,  and  then  replied  in  a  softened  voice :  "  You  did 
right,  my  son ;  just  what  I  should  have  expected  from  a 


288  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

child  who  has  been  taught  by  such  a  mother.  Cannot 
you  throw  away  your  obstinate  resistance  of  my  kind- 
ness, and  allow  me  to  feed  you  with  a  piece  of  this 
cake  ?  " 

"  I'll  give  it  to  Fanny,  sir,  because  I  hurt  her,  and  take 
some  of  the  bread  and  butter  you  brought  me." 

Oh  how  earnestly  did  the  father  long  to  press  the  boy 
to  his  heart  for  this  generous  reply !  But  suppressing 
his  emotion,  he  gently  released  one  of  his  hands,  that  he 
might  help  himself.  Indeed  his  position  was  only  pain- 
ful from  its  long  continuance,  as  his  limbs  were  confined 
with  wide  cloth. 

"  My  dear  little  son,"  he  resumed,  when  he  had  eaten 
all  he  wished,  "  must  I  be  compelled  to  tie  this  hand 
again,  or  will  you  now  be  a  good  boy  ?" 

Frederic's  lip  quivered  and  his  eyes  filled  with  tears  as 
he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  If  you  will  let  me  see  my  mother 
I  will." 

"  Your  mother  is  longing  to  see  you,  my  dear  child," 
replied  Mr.  Wells,  with  difficulty  commanding  his  voice ; 
"  but  she  cannot  do  so  until  you  have  yielded  to  my 
authority." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  sobbed  the  boy,  bursting  into  tears,  "  I 
have  been  sorry  a  long  time,  and  I  do  love  you  dearly." 

Mr.  Wells's  eyes  showed  that  he  was  far  from  un- 
moved, as  he  quickly  released  the  boy  and  took  him  in 
his  arms,  when  he  had  rung  the  bell  in  order  to  send  for 
his  wife. 

Nora  quickly  obeyed  the  summons,  and  to  her  surprise 
as  well  as  great  joy  saw  that  the  long  conflict  was  at  an 
end.  Frederic's  arms  were  closely  clasped  around  his 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  289 

father's  neck,  and  he  was  expressing  his  affection  in  the 
fondest  terms. 

Mrs.  Wells  gladly  arose  from  her  couch  to  witness  the 
scene  so  vividly  portrayed  by  the  warm  hearted  girl,  and 
great  was  the  rejoicing  at  the  restoration  of  the  dear  boy 
to  the  family  circle.  Aunt  Hammond  was  summoned 
from  her  chamber  and  the  little  girls  from  their  beds  to 
unite  in  expressing  their  pleasure.  Mr.  Wells  even  re- 
quested Nora  to  ask  the  cook  to  join  them,  as  he  thought 
it  might  be  a  good  opportunity  to  impress  her  with  the 
importance  and  good  results  of  family  government.  He 
never  regretted  the  patient,  calm  decision,  perseverance 
and  prayer  with  which  he  met  and  surmounted  this  diffi- 
culty. It  effectually  established  his  authority  on  its  only 
safe  foundation,  the  confidence  and  affection  of  his  son. 
From  this  time  there  was  a  gradual  improvement  in  the 
boy,  and  though  sometimes  his  eye  flashed,  and  he  sprang 
forward  to  deal  a  blow  upon  whoever  came  in  his  way ; 
yet  he  seldom  went  beyond  this,  and  soon  began  to  real- 
ize the  pleasure  of  having  conquered  himself.  He  be- 
came exceedingly  fond  of  his  father,  who  in  everything 
consistent  with  propriety,  was  very  indulgent  to  him. 
Once  a  day  he  generally  accompanied  him  in  a  walk, 
which  occasion  Mr.  Wells  took  pains  to  render  an  agree- 
able as  well  as  profitable  one. 

Even  the  cook  was  heard  to  declare  that  "  an  own 
father  couldn't  make  more  of  the  child."  Neither  she  or 
Nora  ever  forgot  the  scene  in  the  chamber. 


25 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

THE  CITY  PARISHIONERS. 

IN  a  breakfast  room  belonging  to  an  elegant  house  on 
the  same  street,  as  the  residence  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wells,  a 
lady  and  a  gentleman  were  one  morning  sitting  together 
at  a  late  repast.  She  was  fashionably  attired,  and  as 
she  sipped  her  coffee  from  her  cup  of  Sevres  china,  she 
said  carelessly,  "  Mr.  Bentley,  I  wish  you  would  give 
the  final  orders  for  the  carriage,  I  am  sure  you  must  by 
this  time  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  scarlet  and 
black  are  the  only  proper  colors  for  the  trimmings.  Mel- 
ville is  really  pining  for  his  rides." 

Mr.  Bentley  cast  an  anxious  glance  at  the  pale,  but 
exquisitely  beautiful  features  of  the  boy  who  was  seated 
in  a  high  chair  by  his  side,  and  said  quickly,  "  then  why 
waii  for  the  phaeton ;  order  the  carriage,  and  go  out  this 
morning ;  the  air  is  very  fine." 

The  lady  assumed  a  scornful  expression,  and  without 
appearing  to  notice  the  sweet  voice  which  pleaded 
"please,  mamma,  I  should  like  to  go,"  she  answered 
haughtily,  "Mr.  Bentley,  I  am  really  astonished  that 
you  have  no  more  regard  for  what  is  proper.  Perhaps 
you  have  forgotten  what  I  have  repeated  to  you  every  day 
for  a  week,  that  Mrs.  Stickney  Montague  has  a  new  car- 
riage ;  and  that  I  certainly  shall  not  give  her  the  oppor- 

(290) 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  291 

tunity  to  triumph  over  me,  with  her  stylish  phaeton  and 
outriders." 

"  Pshaw ! "  commenced  the  husband  angrily,  but  re- 
straining himself,  he  said,  more  gently,  "  Surely,  Agnes, 
you  would  not  allow  your  pride  to  prevent  you  from  do- 
ing that  which  you  acknowledge  the  health  of  your  only 
child  demands  ?  " 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Bentley  made  no  reply.  She  felt 
her  anger  rising,  and  she  was  anxious  to  keep  her  tem- 
per so  as  to  gain  her  point ;  but  the  beseeching  glance 
of  her  boy  irritated  her,  conscious  as  she  was  of  being 
governed  by  unworthy  motives,  and  she  replied  sharply, 
"  Once  for  all,  Mr.  Bentley,  I  will  not  be  seen  in  that 
detestable  carriage,  in  which  I  have  rode  for  two  sea- 
sons. If  you  do  not  care  enough  for  the  health  of  Mel- 
ville to  give  up  your  odious  preference  for  blue  and 
orange  trimmings,  you  surely  cannot  expect  me  to  resign 
all  pretensions  to  good  taste,  which  I  should  do  were  I 
to.  choose  anything  but  scarlet  and  black.  Therefore  if 
the  child  grows  pale  and  thin  for  want  of  air,  you  have 
no  one  but  yourself  to  blame  for  it." 

Though  pale  with  suppressed  anger,  the  millionnaire 
turned  to  leave  the  room  without  making  any  reply. 
He  had  often  heard  his  wife  use  such  words,  but  there 
was  now  a  bitterness  and  contempt  in  her  tone  which 
stung  him  to  the  quick.  He  had  his  hand  on  the  door, 
when  a  soft  voice  said,  "  please,  papa,  kiss  Melly  good- 
bye." The  father  turned,  held  out  his  arms  to  his  dar- 
ling boy,  then  strained  him  tightly  to  his  heart. 

"  I  love  you,"  whispered  the  child,  "  I  love  you  dearly." 

"  Melville,"  called  the  mother,  «  come  to  mamma,  I 


292  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ', 

wouldn't  love  papa  when  he  is  so  cruel  that  he  shuts  us 
up  like  prisoners,  and  will  not  let  us  go  out  this  beauti- 
ful day,  just  to  gratify  his  indomitable  will ; "  but  the 
child  clung  tightly  to  his  father's  neck,  and  laid  his  soft 
cheek  against  his  bearded  face. 

With  lips  closely  compressed,  and  a  terrible  frown  up- 
on his  brow,  Mr.  Bentley  advanced  to  his  wife,  with  the 
child  in  his  arms.  He  knew  that  her  words,  though  ad- 
dressed to  the  boy,  were  meant  for  him,  and  already  irri- 
tated by  her  conduct,  he  could  now  hardly  control  him- 
self. For  one  instant  he  stood  gazing  upon  her,  as  she 
sat  with  her  head  thrown  back  in  conscious  beauty. 
Her  features  were  very  lovely.  The  excitement  had 
added  new  lustre  to  her  sparkling  eyes,  and  given  a 
richer  hue  to  the  bloom  upon  her  cheek.  There  was 
also  a  striking  likeness  between  her  and  the  beautiful 
boy  clinging  lovingly  to  his  neck,  and  the  sternness  grew 
less  as  he  gazed.  If  she  had  exhibited  any  symptoms  of 
sorrow  for  what  she  had  said,  he  would  have  tried  to 
forget  what  had  passed ;  but,  alas !  she  was  too  conscious 
of  her  charms  —  too  sure  that  the  moment  she  thought 
proper  to  do  so,  she  could  bring  him  to  her  side,  forgetful 
of  all  but  her  love,  to  be  willing  yet  to  yield.  He  per- 
ceived this  even  as  he  stood  before  her,  and  said  in  a 
low  but  impressive  voice,  "  Beware,  Agnes !  you  may 
press  me  too  far.  I  tell  you  now,  that  though  I  have 
borne  much  because  you  are  the  mother  of  my  child,  and 
because  I  have  loved  you ;  yet  my  temper  is  by  no  means 
invincible.  A  little  farther  and  all  intercourse  between 
us  must  cease." 

Though  her  countenance  turned  a  shade  paler,  the 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  293 

lady  looked  haughtily  in  her  husband's  face,  and  said, 
carelessly,  "  the  sooner  the  better,  sir ;  would  it  not  be 
well  to  call  in  a  lawyer  at  once  ?  " 

"  Agnes,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bentley  in  a  husky  voice, 
half  angry,  half  sorrowful,  "do  you  mean  what  you 
say  ?  " 

"  Why  should  you  doubt  it  ?  "  she  replied,  attempting 
to  speak  gayly. 

"  And  do  you  know  that  if  we  separate  you  will  also 
lose  your  boy  ?  The  law  gives  him  to  me."  At  that 
moment,  Melville,  seeing  that  his  father  was  troubled, 
clasped  his  white  arms  still  closer  around  his  neck.  The 
action  was  not  unnoticed  by  his  mother,  and  it  added  to 
the  bitterness  of  her  tone,  as  she  said,  "  If  you  think  to 
frighten  me  you  will  be  disappointed,"  and  humming  a 
few  notes  from  a  new  opera,  she  left  the  room. 

Mr.  Bentley  sank  into  a  chair,  and  hid  his  face  upon 
the  child's  shoulder.  A  dreadful  tumult  was  going  on 
within  his  breast.  His  wife  had  proved  herself  a  worldly, 
thoughtless,  and  unfeeling  woman.  How  had  he  been 
deceived  in  her !  Her  love  of  gayety  and  fashion  had  even 
swallowed  up  all  her  affection  for  her  child,  and  now  she 
seemed  wholly  lost  to  him.  Upon  her  untiring  devotion 
to  her  boy,  he  had  built  many  a  castle  which,  alas,  was 
suddenly  dashed  to  the  ground.  This  pure  and  ardent 
love  which  had  increased  from  the  moment  of  his  birth, 
had  been  a  cloak  with  which  he  had  covered  many  of 
her  faults.  Now  she  quietly  acquiesced  in  the  thought 
of  being  separated  from  him,  and  he  groaned  aloud. 

"  Please,  papa,  don't  cry.     Melly  sorry  papa  sick,"  and 
the  small  hand  was  passed  caressingly  over  his  face. 
25* 


294  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

The  father  could  bear  it  no  longer.  He  started  from 
his  seat,  and  bidding  the  boy  go  to  his  mother,  retired  to 
the  garden,  back  of  the  house,  where,  for  nearly  an  hour, 
he  continued  walking  back  and  forth  with  rapid  steps. 
Fifty  times  his  mind  was  made  up  to  take  her  at  her 
word,  call  in  a  lawyer,  provide  handsomely  for  her,  and 
separate.  But  the  boy !  Could  he  have  the  heart  to 
take  him  from  his  mother,  who,  aside  from  what  had 
just  taken  place,  had  been  wholly  devoted  to  him? 
Memory  carried  him  back  a  year,  to  the  time  when  their 
darling  lay  ill  of  a  severe  fever.  How  gladly  had  the 
young  mother  turned  aside  from  her  ceaseless  pursuit 
after  pleasure,  and  devoted  herself  to  his  comfort.  Night 
after  night  she  watched  by  his  couch,  unconscious  of 
fatigue,  unwilling  to  share  the  care  even  with  him  ;  nor 
would  she  rest  until  the  physician  pronounced  him  con- 
valescent. The  more  he  thought  of  this,  the  more  he 
became  convinced  that  she  had  that  morning  assumed 
an  indifference  that  she  did  not  feel;  and  he  determined 
to  do  nothing  hastily,  to  watch  her  closely,  and  above 
all  things,  to  guard  his  own  temper.  If  he  could  have 
witnessed  the  scene  which  was  taking  place  in  the  cham- 
ber overlooking  the  garden,  he  might  have  been  still 
more  convinced  that  she  had  not  expressed  her  true  feel- 
ings. 

On  leaving  her  husband  Mrs.  Bentley  retired  at  once 
to  her  own  dressing  room,  which  was  fitted  up  with  al- 
most regal  magnificence.  Costly  rose-colored  curtains 
were  draped  from  the  windows,  and  also  were  suspended 
'from  a  gilded  scroll,  fastened  to  the  ceiling,  and  fell 
gracefully  around  a  child's  bed.  Tapestry-carpetings, 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  295 

toilet-tables,  above  which  hung  long  mirrors,  chairs  cov- 
ered with  rich  damask,  ornaments  of  silver,  and  china, 
and  glass,  proved  that  wealth,  refinement  and  taste 
reigned  in  that  apartment.  But  the  occupant  thought 
not  of  these  things.  She  had  been  accustomed  to 
them  from  her  birth,  and  they  had  no  power  to  move 
her.  She  threw  herself  into  a  luxurious  chair,  and  with 
her  handkerchief  at  her  eyes  sobbed  aloud.  In  this 
state  she  continued  until  the  door  gently  opened,  and 
Melville  asked  softly:  "Please,  Mamma,  let  Melly 
come  ?  " 

"  She  took  the  child,  and  held  him  so  tightly  that  he 
was  almost  frightened.  "  I  will  never  give  you  up," 
she  exclaimed  passionately.  "  He  may  go,  and  take 
every  thing ;  yes,  every  thing  ;  but  I  will  not  be  separated 
from  my  boy."  She  continued  in  this  state  of  mind  for 
a  long  time,  weeping  bitter  tears  of  anger  and  self- 
reproach,  until  she  heard  the  hall-door  open  and  shut, 
and  found  that  her  husband  had  left  the  house. 

"  How  foolish  I  have  been,"  she  exclaimed  aloud ! 
"  He  only  did  it  to  frighten  me.  I  really  wish  I  had 
never  thought  of  asking  for  a  new  phaeton ;  and  if 
I  had  not  told  Mrs.  Montague's  sister  that  I  was  to  have 
one  with  trimmings  of  scarlet  and  black,  I  would  give 
it  up  now,  for  I  reaUy  care  nothing  about  it.  Oh,  dear ! 
What  if  he  has  really  taken  me  at  my  word  ?  "  And  she 
sank  back  in  her  chair,  pale,  and  trembling  at  the 
slightest  sound. 

During  the  hour  which  followed,  as  she  sat  with  her 
arms  about  her  boy,  who  had  fallen  asleep  in  her  lap, 
her  married  life  passed  in  review  before  her.  She  started 


296  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

back  at  the  sight  presented  by  an  awakened  conscience. 
Her  husband,  who,  on  their  first  acquaintance,  had 
piqued  her  by  appearing  unconscious  of  the  charms  of 
which  her  numerous  admirers  never  failed  to  remind  her, 
—  her  husband,  high  minded,  honorable  and  generous, 
with  quick  impulses,  but  a  warm  heart,  was  now  about 
to  be  lost  to  her  forever ;  yes,  in  that  hour  of  self-exami- 
nation, she  acknowledged  it  to  herself —  through  her  own 
foolish  pride  and  folly.  At  first  he  had  yielded  in  every- 
thing to  her  wishes,  however  frivolous ;  but  finding,  as 
he  yielded,  she  became  more  and  more  exacting  in  her 
demands,  he  had  at  first  gently  remonstrated,  then  finally 
refused  to  comply,  unless  he  were  convinced  of  the 
reasonableness  of  her  desires.  Two  years  before  these 
occurrences,  at  her  earnest  request,  he  had  sold  a  valua- 
ble family  carriage,  and  purchased  for  her  use  one  of  a 
more  modern  style,  fitted  and  trimmed  according  to  her 
taste.  With  this  she  was  very  well  satisfied  until  she 
formed  the  acquaintance  of  Mrs.  Stickney  Montague, 
who  was  noted  for  her  desire  to  surpass  all  others  in  the 
elegance  of  her  dress  and  equipage.  This  lady  had 
lately  persuaded  her  husband,  who,  by  means  of  her  ex- 
travagance, had  several  times  been  nearly  bankrupted,  to 
purchase  for  her  a  new  kind  of  carriage,  very  elegant  in 
style,  though  not  very  commodious. 

Mrs.  Bentley  no  sooner  saw  her  friend's  new  vehicle, 
than  she  suddenly  ascertained  that  her  own  was  old- 
fashioned  and  odious.  And  she  did  not  rest  until  she  had 
coaxed  her  husband  to  gratify  her  by  the  purchase  of  one 
which  would  surpass  in  elegance  that  of  the  lady  whom 
she  styled  her  friend.  The  new  phaeton  was  in  process 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  297 

of  building  when,  unfortunately,  there  arose  a  disagree- 
ment between  them  with  regard  to  the  color  of  the 
trimmings.  Mrs.  Bentley  decided  upon  scarlet  and 
black,  and  had  confidentially  informed  Mrs.  Duval,  sis- 
ter of  Mrs.  Montague,  that  those  were  the  colors ;  but 
Mr.  Bentley  preferred  orange  and  blue.  If,  however, 
his  wife  had  exhibited  a  willingness  to  consult  his 
taste,  he  had  determined  to  give  her  a  pleasant  sur- 
prise by  ordering  the  trimmings  according  to  her  wishes. 
Unfortunately,  the  conversation  happened  at  a  time 
when  she  was  vexed  and  annoyed,  and  her  temper 
unusually  irritable.  As  she  became  more  exacting,  he 
grew  more  cold  and  stern,  until  her  passion  was  excited, 
and  she  uttered  words  of  bitterness  and  reproach  which 
he  could  not  forget.  For  two  days  not  a  word  was  said 
on  the  subject,  when  the  desire  of  Mrs.  Bentley  to  ex- 
cite the  envy  of  Mrs.  Montague  caused  her  to  recur  to 
it  at  the  breakfast  table. 


CHAPTER     XXV. 

THE  LOST  HEIR. 

"  LOST  !  lost !  sometime  between  the  hours  of  twelve 
and  three,  a  child  of  four  years,  with  brown,  curling  hair, 
black  eyes  and  fair  complexion!  When  last  seen,  he 
wore  a  blue  velvet  sack,  and  drab  pants  buckled  just 
below  the  knee." 

This  was  the  continued,  monotonous  proclamation  of 
the  street-crier  on  the  evening  of  the  day  mentioned  in 
the  former  part  of  this  story.  Parents  ran  in  alarm  to 
the  windows  to  hear  more  distinctly,  and  shuddered  as 
they  glanced  at  their  own  children.  But  still,  up  one 
street,  and  down  another,  the  fearful  sound,  "  Lost ! 
lost!!"  rang  out  on  the  night  air,  making  every  mother's 
heart  to  quake  with  fear. 

In  the  princely  mansion  of  Mr.  Bentley,  the  scene  of 
distress  was  beyond  all  description,  for  it  was  their  only 
child,  their  darling  Melville,  who  had  so  mysteriously 
disappeared.  When  last  we  saw  him,  he  lay  quietly 
sleeping  in  the  arms  of  his  weeping  mother.  At  a  later 
hour,  she  was  summoned  to  the  parlor  to  receive  callers, 
and  left  him  upon  his  low  bed.  Since  that  time  no  one 
of  the  family  had  seen  him.  When  Mrs.  Bentley  re- 
turned to  her  room,  dressed  in  the  most  elaborate  man- 
ner, but  with  a  faint  sickness  at  her  heart  as  she  thought 
of  her  husband's  parting  words,  she  found  Melville  had 

(298) 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  299 

arisen,  and  supposed  that  without  doubt  his  nurse  had 
him  in  her  care.  The  time  passed  slowly  away  until  the 
hour  drew  near  when  her  husband  usually  returned  to 
dinner.  Would  he  come  ?  "  she  asked  herself.  Her  cheek 
flushed  and  her  heart  beat  tumultuously  as  she  feared 
not.  Oh,  now  she  realized  more  than  ever,  how  her 
whole  soul  was  bound  up  in  him  and  in  her  child !  Of 
what  avail  were  the  most  costly  phaetons  with  their  liv- 
eried outriders,  if  her  heart  were  desolate  ?  The  image 
of  her  rival  Mrs.  Stickney  Montague,  decorated  with  all 
that  art  or  money  could  supply,  arrayed  in  robes  of  costly 
magnificence  appeared  suddenly  before  her.  But  she 
started  back  as  if  she  loathed  the  sight.  It  was  stripped 
of  all  power  to  charm,  and  she  could  only  behold  a  faded, 
care-worn  figure  in  whose  breast  envy,  ambition  and 
malice  waged  a  ceaseless  war.  "  And  this  is  the  woman 
whom  I  have  been  striving  to  emulate.  This  is  she  for 
whom  I  have  sacrificed  my  noble  husband  and  rny  child." 
She  placed  her  hands  upon  her  breast  to  quiet  the  dread- 
ful conflict  awakened  there. 

It  was  now  four  o'clock,  the  hour  for  dinner.  Mr.  Bent- 
ley  usually  so  prompt,  had  not  returned.  She  rang  the 
bell  and  directed  the  servant  to  send  Melville  to  her.  In 
a  few  moments  the  door  opened  and  Susan  the  nurse 
appeared  alone. 

"  I  want  Melville,"  said  the  lady  in  a  subdued  voice. 

"  Where  is  he,  ma'am?"  asked  the  woman,  advancing 
with  an  expression  of  surprise  upon  her  countenance. 

"  Don't  you  know  where  he  is  7"  inquired  her  mistress, 
starting  to  meet  her,  and  speaking  with  great  difficulty. 

"  No,  ma'am,  I've  not  seen  the  child  since  I  left  him 


SCO  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

with  yees  in  the  morning  just  as  ye  were  coming  up  from 
breakfast,  and  it's  longing  I've  been  after  the  swate  boy 
through  the  whole  day." 

Mrs.  Bentley  put  her  hand  to  her  head  to  see  if  she 
were  awake.  The  room,  seemed  whirling  around ;  but 
making  a  great  effort  she  walked  to  her  chair  and  sat 
down.  She  knew  now  that  it  was  no  idle  threat  her 
husband  had  made.  He  had  taken  her  child  from  her 
forever.  Oh,  how  the  words  she  had  so  thoughtlessly 
uttered,  "  the  sooner  the  better"  now  rang  in  her  ears ! 
Yes,  she  had  brought  this  upon  herself.  She  was  alone 
in  the  world. 

She  became  so  very  pale  that  Susan  thought  she 
would  faint,  and  began  to  scream  for  assistance,  but 
Mrs.  Bentley  motioned  her  to  be  quiet,  and  after  a  mo- 
ment her  white  lips  moved,  and  she  slowly  articulated, 
"  Susan,  are  you  sure  you  have  not  seen  him  since  morn- 
ing ?  Try  to  remember." 

"  Indade  and  I'm  sure  then ;  for  it's  wondering  I  was, 
why  the  precious  boy  didn't  come  to  his  Susy  for  a  walk  in 
the  park,  as  I  heard  yees  tell  the  master  ye'd  not  be  rid- 
ing the  day,  and  twice  I  came  to  the  door,  and  heard  a 
sound  of  weeping  like,  so  I  said  to  myself, '  sure  and  it's 
not  Susan  McLaughlin  that's  going  to  intrude  on  the 
mistress  when  it's  in  trouble  she  is.' " 

"  But  Susan,  I  left  him  in  his  bed  when  I  went  to  the 
parlor,  and  when  I  returned  he  was  gone.  Go  and  send 
Ann  to  me,  and  ask  the  cook  if  she  has  seen  any  one 
come  in  and  —  stay ;  ask  Thomas  too.  No  one  could 
enter  without  his  knowledge." 

In  a  very  short  time  all  the  servants  of  the  establish- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  301 

ment  presented  themselves  at  the  door  of  her  room. 
Consternation  was  visible  upon  every  countenance,  for 
Melville  was  the  pet  and  pride  of  the  whole  household. 
All  were  eager  to  speak ;  but  alas,"none  of  them  had  any 
comfort  to  impart !  The  cook  indeed  had  seen  a  myste- 
rious looking  person  loitering  about  the  basement-door, 
but  who  pretended  only  to  be  begging  for  cold  victuals. 
Thomas  was  willing  to  take  his  oath  that  no  one  had 
come  through  the  front  hall,  but  those  he  had  himself 
admitted,  and  as  his  station  was  near  the  door,  his  state- 
ment was  probably  true.  The  voice  of  Susan  bewailing 
the  loss  of  her  darling,  was  the  sound  which  was  echoed 
from  all.  Mrs.  Bentley  alone  shed  not  a  tear.  Impa- 
tiently waving  her  hand  to  command  silence,  she  said 
in  a  husky  voice,  "  Thomas,  when  did  your  master  come 
in?" 

"  Not  at  all,  ma'am,  since  the  morning ;  but  now  1 
think  of  it,  he  appeared  to  be  troubled  when  he  went  out, 
and  I  saw  him  wipe  his  eyes." 

At  this  moment  the  bell  rang,  Thomas  hastened  to  an- 
swer it,  admitted  Mr.  Bentley  and  in  an  eager  tone  asked 
if  he  had  seen  Melville. 

One  moment  sufficed  to  announce  to  the  father  the 
distressing  event. 

"  Where  is  his  mother  ?  "  he  inquired,  in  an  agony  of 
grief. 

The  man  motioned  up  the  stairs,  and  the  distracted 
father  flew  to  her  side.  At  the  sight  of  him  the  servants 
wept  afresh.  Mrs.  Bentley  was  seated  in  a  chair  by  the 
bed  of  her  lost  boy ;  her  face  buried  in  her  hands ;  the 
convulsive  motion  of  her  whole  frame  showing  the  in- 
26 


302  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

ward  struggle  to  appear  calm.  When  she  heard  her  hus- 
band's step,  she  started  to  her  feet,  gave  him  one  look  of 
intense  agony,  then  sprang  into  his  outstretched  arms. 
For  one  moment  all  was  hushed,  the  lookers  on  restrained 
their  loud  expressions  of  gpef  as  they  gazed  at  the  silent 
woe  of  the  stricken  parents.  Words  cannot  describe  the 
mingled  emotions  of  the  desolate  mother  as  she  was 
tightly  clasped  in  the  arms  of  her  husband.  In  the  midst 
of  all  her  ^dreadful  weight  of  grief,  a  thrill  of  rapture 
darted  through  her  as  she  thought,  "  he  has  not  forsaken 
me,  I  am  not  alone."  She  laid  her  pale  cheek  upon  his 
shoulder  and  whispered,  "  Charles,  forgive  your  poor 
wife!" 

"  As  I  hope  to  be  forgiven,"  he  answered,  with  intense 
emotion !  "  May  God  forgive  us  both  and  restore  to  us 
our  precious  boy ! " 

He  then  led  her  to  a  couch,  placed  himself  by  her  side, 
and  with  his  arm  encircling  her,  said  in  a  voice  which  he 
had  forced  to  be  calm,  "  now  tell  me  when  was  Mel- 
ville last  seen  ?  " 

Susan,  Ann,  and  Thomas  all  attempted  to  reply  at 
once. 

"Stop,"  said  Mr.  Bentley,  "one  at  a  time,  and  be 
quick ;  there  is  no  time  to  lose.  The  police  must  be  put 
upon  the  track." 

An  hour  later,  and  advertisements  had  been  sent  to 
each  of  the  police  station  houses.  Mr.  Bentley  had  seen 
the  chief  of  police,  who  detailed  a  company  of  special 
officers  to  visit  suspected  places,  and  all  the  officers  on 
the  beat  were  put  upon  the  watch.  In  addition  to  these 
vigorous  measures,  the  distracted  father  had  advertise- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  303 

ments  struck  off,  containing  a  minute  description  of  the 
child,  and  offering  a  reward  of  ten  thousand  dollars  to 
any  one  who  would  restore  him  to  his  parents.  When 
this  had  been  done,  he  directed  the  coachman  to  drive 
home.  While  actively  employed,  the  poor  man  bore  up 
bravely  against  this  terrible  blow,  but  now  that  he  must 
sit  down  in  quiet  and  await  the  result,  he  began  to  real- 
ize it  in  its  fullest  extent.  He  longed  to  return  to  his 
wife,  and  yet  dreaded  to  do  so,  with  no  tidings  of  their 
boy.  How  entirely  were  all  bitter  memories  of  her  oblit- 
erated from  his  mind !  How  fully  were  they  reunited 
by  their  overwhelming  loss ! 

Thomas  had  no  sooner  answered  the  impetuous  ring 
of  the  door  bell,  than  Mrs.  Bentley  flew  down  the  stairs, 
exclaiming,  "  Oh,  Melville,  my  own  darling,  where  have 
you  been  ?  "  But  seeing  her  husband  turn  quickly  aside 
and  enter  the  parlor  alone,  she  burst  into  a  passionate  fit 
of  weeping.  During  his  absence  the  tidings  of  the  lost 
child  had  spread  far  and  wide.  Neighbors  and  friends 
had  gathered  around,  some  of  whom,  in  their  kind  at- 
tempt to  allay  the  present  distress  of  the  almost  frantic 
mother,  had  unwisely  endeavored  to  persuade  her  that 
her  husband  would  not  fail  to  be  successful  in  his  search, 
that  it  was  certain  he  would  not  return  without  her  boy. 
Alas !  she  was  too  ready  to  believe  this,  and  thus  her  dis- 
appointment had  overwhelmed  her. 

Though  his  heart  seemed  ready  to  break,  Mr.  Bentley 
forced  himself  to  appear  hopeful.  He  drew  his  wife  ten- 
derly to  his  side,  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  and  in  a 
low,  soothing  voice,  whispered  words  of  comfort  and 
hope.  For  hours  they  sat  thus,  the  faithful  and  sympa- 


304  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

thizing  Thomas  considerately  detaining  any  visitors  or 
servants  who  wished  to  join  them.  Sometimes  a  sound 
in  the  distance  would  cause  their  hearts  to  beat  painfully. 
Each  time  the  listening  mother  was  sure  her  child  was 
found,  and  even  heard  his  voice  calling  aloud,  "  mamma," 
so  that  it  was  with  difficulty  he  restrained  her  from  rush- 
ing out  to  meet  him.  But  as  one  company  after  an- 
other passed  by,  and  still  the  child  came  not,  she  sank 
beneath  the  weight  of  her  grief.  She  now  scarcely  spoke 
except  to  utter  some  passionate  exclamation,  "  Oh  where, 
where  is  my  boy  ?  It  would  be  far,  far  better  to  know 
he  were  dead." 

Poor  Mr.  Bentley !  It  was  the  truest  token  of  his  self 
sacrificing  affection  for  his  wife  that  he  remained  by  her 
side,  for  with  hi8  whole  soul  he  longed  to  be  engaged  in 
the  vigorous  search  which  was  taking  place  through  all 
the  by-lanes  of  that  great  city.  He  tried  in  vain  to  rea- 
son with  himself  that  he  should  only  impede  their  prog- 
ress, that  he  was  wholly  unaccustomed  to  such  duty ;  he 
had  an  inward  feeling  that  instinct  would  lead  him  to 
his  boy.  The  father's  heart  ached  as  it  was  thus  torn  by 
conflicting  ties.  Once  the  feelings  which  led  him  forth 
were  so  strong,  that  he  unconsciously  drew  his  hand  from 
hers,  and  started  from  his  seat,  but  with  a  piteous  excla- 
mation of  utter  helplessness,  Agnes  cried  out,  "  Charles, 
you  will  not  leave  me ! "  and  he  immediately  resumed 
his  seat. 

"  No,  no,"  he  whispered,  «  I  will  not  leave  you,"  and 
he  pressed  her  convulsively  to  his  heart.  "  Agnes,"  he 
said  more  calmly,  "  be  patient.  This  is  a  work  of  time. 
Every  officer  which  can  possibly  be  spared  from  the  beat 


OR,  THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED  LIFE.  305 

is  actively  engaged  in  searching  for  our  poor  boy ;  but  it 
may  be  unsuccessful  for  a  time,  I  know,  yes  I  feel  God 
will  in  mercy  restore  him  to  us ;  but  it  may  not  be  for 
days  or  even  weeks.  Let  us  endeavor,  my  dear  wife,  to 
be  calm,  that  we  may  be  better  prepared  for  whatever 
suffering  is  before  us." 

The  tears  poured  like  rain  down  the  pale  cheeks  of 
Mrs.  Bentley ;  but  she  presently  replied,  "  Oh,  Charles, 
if  I  could  only  forget  that  I  am  the  one  who  has  brought 
this  terrible  affliction  upon  us !  I,  by  my  own  wicked- 
ness, have  made  you  suffer,  and  my  poor  boy !  —  I  know 
that  I  deserve  it ;  but  I  feel  that  it  will  kill  me ! "  She 
bowed  her  head  in  agony  of  spirit. 

The  whole  frame  of  the  husband  trembled  with  emo- 
tion, as  he  listened  to  the  words  of  his  wife.  "  Yes,  Ag- 
nes," he  said  after  a  pause,  "  In  these  long,  sad  hours, 
I,  too,  have  reviewed  the  past ;  and  God  helping  me,  I 
will,  hereafter,  li ve  a  better  life,  —  will  prove  myself  a 
more  affectionate  husband,  and  if  Melville  is  restored, 
which  God  in  mercy  grant,  a  more  devoted  father.  We 
have  both  sinned,  my  darling,  I  feel  it  now,  I  see  where 
I  have  erred.  We  have  lived  too  much  for  the  world  of 
fashion,  too  little  for  each  other,  and  alas,  not  at  ah1  for 
the  service  of  Him  who  made  us.  I  can  remember,  when 
a  boy  not  much  older  than  our  Melly,  that  my  only  sis- 
ter lay  dangerously  ill  with  the  scarlet  fever.  I  was  al- 
most beside  myself  with  grief  at  the  thought  that  she 
would  soon  be  laid  in  the  cold  grave.  I  remember  as  if 
it  were  but  yesterday  my  mother  leaving  the  sick  room 
where  night  and  day  she  had  watched  by  the  little  suf- 
ferer and  coming  with  her  pale,  wan  face  to  take  me 
26* 


306  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND  MARRIAGES; 

by  the  hand  to  her  chamber.  There  was  a  large  closet 
within,  and  to  this  we  at  once  retired,  where  motioning 
me  toward  a  low  cricket,  she  knelt  at  a  chair  by  my  side. 
Oh,  how  earnestly  did  she  plead  for  the  life  of  her  little 
Anna !  Yet  she  oft  repeated  the  words,  «  Oh,  heavenly 
Father,  if  it  be  thy  will,  restore  her  to  us  even  from  the 
border  of  the  grave  ! '  I  arose  from  that  prayer  soothed 
and  comforted  with  an  assurance,  though  not  then  under- 
stood by  myself,  that  God  heard  and  answered.  After 
that,  I  wept  no  more,  but  waited  patiently  for  the  time 
when  she  would  know  me,  and  run  about  as  of  old." 

"  And  did  she?"  asked  Mrs.  Bentley,  breathless  with 
interest. 

"  Yes,  she  did.     Not  for  an  instant  had  I  doubted  it" 
"  Charles,"  almost  gasped  the  poor  wife,  starting  and 
looking  around  the  room,  as  if  in  search  of  that  God 
who  is  a  Spirit,  and  cannot  be   seen  by  mortal  eyes, 

"  Charles,  why  can't  we  pray  too  ?     Perhaps  he  would 

» 

"  Oh,  Agnes,"  he  faltered,  bowing  his  head  upon  his 
hands,  "  my  mother  was  a  Christian  !"  The  words  were 
spoken  in  a  tone  of  utter  despondency ;  and  the  heart  of 
the  wife,  which  had  begun  to  rest  upon  divine  help,  sank 
again.  Alas !  they  little  knew  that  their  heavenly  Fa- 
ther was  watching  them  with  eyes  beaming  with  icn- 
derness,  that  this  was  his  chosen  way  to  bring  them  to 
himself. 

As  the  watch,  passing  the  house,  sang  out,  "one 
o'clock,"  a  ring  was  heard  at  the  door.  Both  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Bentley  flew  to  answer  it ;  but  Thomas  had  been 
before  them,  and  was  receiving  a  message  from  Mr. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  307 

Noyes,  the  chief  of  police.  The  search  had,  so  far,  been 
unsuccessful,  and  must  be  suspended  until  morning. 
Sad,  sad  indeed,  and  weary,  were  the  hearts  the  poor 
father  and  mother  carried  to  their  chamber  that  night. 
They  thought  not  of  sleep.  Drawing  a  lounge  near  the 
bed,  Mr.  Bentley  endeavored  to  persuade  his  wife  to  lay 
her  head  upon  the  pillow ;  but  she  turned  from  it,  and 
sought  the  support  of  his  shoulder  —  his,  who  was  now 
all  she  had  in  the  world.  Here,  for  some  time  she  lay 
so  quietly,  that  he  hoped  she  had  forgotten  her  sorrows 
in  sleep.  At  length  she  spoke  softly,  as  if  almost  afraid 
of  the  sound  of  her  own  voice,  "  Charles,  I  do  want  to 
pray,  and  I  want  to  be  a  Christian,  as  your  mother  was ; 
but  I  don't  know  how."  As  if  actuated  by  the  same 
impulse,  the  young  pair  arose  and  knelt  by  the  couch. 
Entirely  unused  even  to  the  form  and  attitude  of  prayer, 
at  first  they  could  only  express  their  thoughts  to  God  by 
"  an  upward  lifting  of  the  eye,  and  by  the  silent  tear,"  but 
the  divine  Lord  put  words  into  their  mouths ;  and  they 
were  enabled  to  draw  close  to  the  mercy-seat,  and  to  sue 
humbly  but  earnestly  for  a  blessing.  Almost  in  the  very 
words  with  which  years  before  the  pious  mother  had 
begged  for  the  life  of  her  child,  the  desolate  father  now 
besought  that  the  child  who  was  lost  might  be  found. 
And  then  they  prayed  for  themselves.  Yes,  this  gay 
couple,  whose  knees  had  never  before  knelt  together  in 
prayer,  whose  lips  had  never  formed  words  of  supplica- 
tion or  of  gratitude,  now  bowed  themselves  before  their 
Maker,  and  asked  for  the  forgiveness  of  their  sins,  and 
light  to  direct  them  in  the  new  life  which  they  were 
determined  to  live. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

THE  DISCOVERY. 

EARLY  the  next  morning  Mr.  Bentley  explained  to  his 
wife  that  if  she  would  consent  to  have  him  leave  her,  he 
might  be  personally  engaged  in  searching  for  their  child, 
and  was  glad  to  see  that  she  yielded  at  once  to  his 
wishes.  He  then  sent  a  servant  a  few  miles  out  of  town 
for  her  married  sister,  and  left  her  to  begin  his  disheart- 
ening labor, — disheartening,  I  say,  because  already  every 
place  where  suspicion  could  rest  had  been  examined,  and 
even  the  most  hopeful  began  to  fear  that  the  lost  one 
was  beyond  their  reach.  But  gold  is  powerful,  and  Mr. 
Bentley  poured  it  out  like  water.  A  more  thorough  and 
extensive  examination  commenced.  It  was  considered 
probable  that  the  child  had  been  taken  away  for  the  very 
purpose  of  demanding  money  for  his  restoration,  and 
therefore  the  father  added  another  thousand  for  his 
immediate  recovery. 

But  notwithstanding  all  this,  the  day  passed  wearily 
away :  the  night  came,  but  no  tidings  of  the  poor  boy. 
The  alternation  of  hope  and  fear  had  worn  fearfully  up- 
on the  frame  of  the  poor  mother.  She  was  no  longer  able 
to  rise  from  her  bed,  but  lay  like  a  drooping  lily,  pallid 
and  trembling  upon  her  silken  couch.  Alas,  what  mat- 
tered it  to  her  that  her  damask  and  lace  curtains  were 
the  most  costly  which  could  be  procured  ;  that  the  fur- 

(308) 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  309 

niture  of  her  room  had  been  imported  for  her  use  from 
Paris,  that  the  gold  and  silver  ornaments  even,  would  be 
considered  by  many  a  young  man,  a  handsome  capital, 
one  glance  of  love  from  her  dear  child,  the  whispered 
words,  ".mamma,  I  love  you,"  were  worth  more  than 
all. 

Every  few  hours  her  husband  returned,  -if  only  for  a 
moment.  He  could  not  endure  to  be  long  absent  from 
her,  who  in  her  silent,  tearless  woe,  with  lustreless  eyes 
and  sunken  cheeks  was  far  more  beautiful  to  him  than 
in  her  days  of  richest  bloom  and  pride.  How  ardently 
did  this  afflicted  pair,  who  but  a  few  days  gone  by,  were 
on  the  verge  of  separation,  now  strive  to  repress  their 
own  grief,  and  to  impart  hope  to  the  other.  As  the 
sound  of  her  husband's  footsteps  met  her  ear,  and  the 
sight  of  his  pallid,  ghastly  countenance  passed  before  her 
view,  how  earnestly  did  the  now  loving  wife  strive  to 
appear, cheerful!  But  alas,  nothing  cut  so  deeply  to  his 
heart  as  that  sickly  attempt  to  smile !  He  turned  hastily 
away  in  bitterness  of  spirit.  Near  the  close  of  the  sec- 
ond day,  as  Mr.  Bentley,  with  Mr.  Mansfield,  his  brother- 
in-law,  had  returned  from  a  place  where  they  had  been 
strongly  tempted  to  hope  they  might  find  the  poor  boy, 
the  father  sank  down  perfectly  exhausted.  Not  once 
since  the  dreadful  loss,  had  he  closed  his  eyes  in  sleep ; 
and  only  by  making  a  great  exertion  had  he  forced  him- 
self to  eat.  He  could  not  swallow  when  his  only  son 
might  be  starving.  Having  bathed  his  head  and  admin- 
istered a  cordial,  Mr.  Mansfield  prevailed  upon  him  to  lie 
down,  and  try  to  sleep,  urging  the  absolute  necessity  of 
his  doing  so,  if  he  wished  to  continue  the  search. 


310  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

But  it  was  with  the  greatest  reluctance  that  the  af- 
flicted father  consented  to  their  wishes  to  abandon,  even 
for  an  hour,  his  personal  efforts  for  the  discovery  of  his 
lost  boy.  Mr.  Mansfield  at  length  prevailed  and  having 
darkened  the  room,  he  left  them  to  seek  rest. 

No  sooner  were  they  alone  than  Mrs.  Bentley  caught 
her  husband's  hand  and  pressed  it  to  her  lips.  "  Charles," 
she  said,  in  a  subdued  voice,  "  I  have  been  thinking 
about  your  mother,  and  I  can  say  as  she  did,  '  If  it  is 
thy  will,  restore  to  us  our  boy  ! '  Oh,  my  dear  husband, 
it  is  sweet  to  feel  thus !  He  knows  what  is  best  for  us. 
If  this  dreadful  event  had  not  taken  place,  I  might  have 
gone  on  in  sin.  I  shudder  to  think  of  the  precipice  near 
which  I  stood.  Now,  I  feel  that  I  have  a  Father  in 
heaven,  and  that  he,  for  the  sake  of  my  Saviour,  will 
make  me  his  child." 

"  Agnes,"  asked  Mr.  Bentley,  in  astonishment,  "  where 
did  you  learn  this  ?  " 

"  Do  you  remember  the  old  lady,  in  the  block  oppo- 
site, at  whom  I  have  so  often  laughed  for  her  quaint,  old- 
fashioned  ways  as  she  sat  sewing  at  the  window ;  but 
whom  I  always  liked  because  she  bestowed  such  kind 
glances  on  Melville  ?  She  is  aunt  to  the  lady  who  has 
married  the  new  minister ;  the  mother  of  those  beautiful 
twins.  Well,  she  has  been  with  me  nearly  all  the  time 
you  have  been  out ;  and  Charles,  she  too  is  a  Christian; 
and  she  asked  God  just  as  if  she  knew  he  was  directly 
before  her,  to  bless  us,  and  to  make  this  dreadful  afflic- 
tion work  out  for  us  a  great  blessing,  even  eternal  life. 
When  she  had  done  I  asked  her  what  she  meant ;  and 
Charles,  she  really  cried  when  she  found  how  ignorant 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  311 

we  were;  she  said, '  Poor,  poor  child !'-  I  told  her  no 
one  had  ever  taught  me  suc!f  things ;  that  my  mother 
died  when  I  was  an  infant ;  but  that  your  mother  was 
a  Christian,  and  knew  how  to  pray." 

"  And  what  else  did  she  say  ?  "  groaned  he  aloud. 

"  She  told  me  that  the  Son  of  God  died  for  just  such 
sinners  as  we  are,  and  that  he  would  give  us  pardon 
and  peace,  if  we  would  pray  to  him ;  and  she  read  such 
soothing  words  out  of  a  little  pocket  Bible.  She  left  it 
with  me,  and  I  will  read  to  you  after  you  have  been  to 
sleep.  Then,  I  hope  you  will  feel  the  same  peace  here," 
putting  her  hand  to  her  heart. 

In  the  mean  time  where  was  little  Melville  ?  It  would 
perhaps  have  essentially  changed  the  mode  of  prose- 
cuting the  search,  if  more  attention  had  been  paid  to  the 
eager  communication  of  the  twins,  Helen  and  Fanny. 
Soon  after  his  mother  left  him  to  go  to  the  parlor  he 
awoke,  and  finding  himself  alone,  arose  from  the  low 
couch,  and  went  softly  down  the  stairs.  The  sun  was 
shining  very  brightly,  and  passing  through  a  French 
window  which  opened  on  the  balcony  leading  to  the 
garden,  he  descended  the  steps,  and  walked  slowly  to  the 
end  of  the  enclosure.  Attracted  by  the  sound  of  voices 
in  the  street,  he  wandered  to  the  fence  separating  the 
garden  from  the  side-walk,  and  stood  for  some  time  look- 
ing through  the  iron  railing.  At  length  he  perceived  that 
the  gate  was  unfastened,  and  with  a  slight  exertion  of 
strength  pushed  it  open.  Here  he  stood  for  nearly  half 
an  hour  watching  groups  of  children  as  they  passed, 
until  becoming  interested  in  a  party  who  were  not  en 


312  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

tirely  strangers,  as  they  lived  just  opposite,  and  he  had 
often  nodded  to  them  from  the  windows, —  and  who 
were  skipping  along  in  great  glee, — he  ventured  timidly 
to  join  them ;  and  thus,  without  a  cap,  or  any  outer 
garment,  he  took  his  first  steps  from  home.  The  little 
girls,  who  were  on  their  way  to  school,  and  more  accus- 
tomed to  take  care  of  themselves,  were  delighted  with 
the  beautiful  child,  and  taking  his  hand  led  him  gayly 
on  until  he  was  entirely  at  a  loss  how  to  return.  This, 
however,  he  at  length  insisted  upon  doing ;  but  when  he 
left  them  became  more  and  more  involved  until,  wearied 
and  sad,  he  sat  upon  a  step,  and,  leaning  his  head  upon 
his  hand,  began  to  weep. 

His  forlorn  attitude  attracted  the  attention  of  a  little 
girl  who  was  hurriedly  returning  home  after  performing 
an  errand  for  her  sick  mother.  She  took  the  child  by  the 
hand,  and  led  him  with  her  to  the  house  which  was 
situated  in  a  retired  but  respectable  street,  where  the 
better  class  of  emigrants  resided.  Passing  up  one  flight 
of  stairs  after  another,  the  girl  whose  name  was  Meta, 
at  length  entered  a  room  on  the  fourth  floor,  —  meagrely 
and  scantily  furnished  indeed,  but  scrupulously  neat  and 
clean.  The  family  were  Norwegians,  and  had  been  in 
the  country  but  a  year.  In  that  time,  death  had  made 
sad  ravages  in  their  little  group,  and  with  merciless 
grasp  had  taken  two  beautiful  twin  boys  from  the  loving 
arms  of  their  mother.  Herman  and  Evan  were  as  dear 
to  her  as  the  lovely  child  who  gazed  so  beseechingly  in 
her  face,  was  to  his  fond  mother.  Her  husband  had 
gone  to  the  West,  and  was  to  send  for  them  when  he 
could  obtain  employment. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  313 

When  the  poor  woman  heard  from  Meta  where  she 
had  found  the  child,  she  considered  it  a  special  provision 
of  Heaven  in  her  behalf.  She  caught  him  to  her  warm, 
honest  heart,  and  wept  over  him  tears  of  joy.  Melville 
was  tenderly  washed  and  fed,  and  lay  that  night  in  the 
bosom  of  his  new  mother  who  little  dreamed  that,  while 
her  heart  beat  so  wildly  with  joy  and  gratitude  for  the 
precious  ~  treasure  God  had  sent  her,  his  mother  was 
weeping  tears  of  anguish  at  his  loss,  or  that  the  whole 
city  was  alive  with  the  search  for  the  son  and  heir  of 
one  of  her  wealthiest  citizens. 

Her  quiet  life  and  unobtrusive  conduct  had  rendered 
her  respected  by  all  her  neighbors,  and  when  the  police 
entered  and  searched  a  house  not  ten  doors  distant,  he 
dreamed  not  of  inquiring  of  her.  On  the  day  Melville 
was  found  by  Meta,  her  mother  was  not  well,  and  in 
consequence  did  not,  for  two  days,  go  out  to  her  work 
which  was  washing  for  families  in  high  life.  On  the 
morning  of  the  third  day,  however,  she  was  so  much 
better  that,  leaving  Melly  with  his  new  and  affectionate 
sister,  she  went  to  wash  in  the  family  of  Mrs.  Wells. 
About  an  hour  after  her  arrival,  and  when  she  was  fairly 
at  work  at  the  tub,  Nora,  the  chamber-maid  came  in, 
and  began  to  tell  her  of  the  dreadful  loss  sustained  by 
one  of  their  neighbors.  At  first  the  poor  woman  paid 
little  attention ;  but  at  length  her  interest  was  aroused 
by  a  description  of  the  child,  and  soon  the  unwelcome 
conviction  was  forced  upon  her  that  her  boy  must  be 
given  up.  She  eagerly  inquired  the  day  when  the  child 
was  lost,  and  finding  the  time  corresponded  exactly  with 
that  when  he  was  found  by  Meta,  she  grew  very  pale, 
2™ 


314  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

and  at  length  with  a  passionate  burst  of  tears,  said  she 
could  not  stay,  she  must  go  home.  In  vain  Mrs.  Wells, 
who  had  been  called  to  the  kitchen  by  Norv.,  urged  to 
know  the  reason.  She  could  only  weep  and  beg  in  her 
broken  language  not  to  be  delayed.  But  she  promised 
to  come  again  the  next  morning.  Upon  leaving  the 
house  she  lost  not  a  moment  in  hastening  to  her  home. 
Conscience  told  her  plainly  there  was  no  other  course 
for  her  to  pursue,  but  to  deliver  the  child  to  his  parents. 
For  the  two  preceding  days,  Melville  had  so  endeared 
himself  to  her  desolated  heart  that  the  struggle  was 
dreadful.  When  she  suddenly  flew  up  the  stairs  and 
burst  into  the  room,  Melville  was  shouting  with  delight 
at  his  success  in  blowing  a  larger  bubble  than  Meta,  but 
was  stopped  short  in  his  glee,  by  seeing  her  who  had 
taught  him  to  call  her  mother,  come  rushing  into  the 
room,  catch  him  in  her  arms,  and  give  way  to  the  most 
passionate  grief. 

Let  us  return  to  the  princely  mansion  of  Mr.  Bentley 
in  —  -  Park.  The  marble  steps  with  their  broad  bal- 
ustrade of  iron,  and  the  ponderous  mahogany  entrance 
are  unchanged.  The  door  opens;  Thomas  occupies  his 
station  of  porter  as  of  old.  We  pass  through  the  immense 
halls,  up  the  broad  staircase  whose  niches  are  filled  with 
marble  statues,  executed  to  order  in  Rome.  Nothing  is 
missing ;  and  yet  all  is  different.  A  solemn  silence  and 
awe  fasten  themselves  upon  one  which  in  vain  they  try 
to  shake  off.  Softly  entering  a  door  at  the  head  of  the 
staircase,  the  darkened  room,  the  sickening  smell  of  cor- 
dials warn  us  of  sickness.  Alas,  it  is  worse  than  sick- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF   WEDDED    LIFE.  315 

ness !  It  is  hopeless  sorrow  of  heart.  The  figure  of  a 
man  is  extended  upon  the  bed.  By  his  side,  with  her 
hand  pressed  upon  his  throbbing  temples,  is  a  delicate 
female,  dressed  in  a  loose  robe  of  white.  Standing  near 
them  with  a  goblet  in  her  hand,  is  an  old  lady  who  says 
in  a  low,  sweet  voice,  "  As  thy  day  is,  so  shall  thy 
strength  be.  Wait  upon  God,  my  son.  He  will  send 
thee  no  more  sorrow  than  he  gives  thee  strength  to  en- 
dure." 

The  man  made  an  impatient  gesture  as  if  he  could 
bear  no  more,  when  the  lady  urged,  "  Oh,  Charles !  if  you 
could  only  be  willing  to  submit  to  his  will,  I  know  that 
he  orders  all  things  for  our  good." 

He  shook  his  head  despondingly. 

At  this  moment  a  low  knock  was  heard  at  the  door, 
and  Susan  entered  hastily.  Her  eyes  were  red  and  swol- 
len with  weeping,  and  hitherto  she  had  been  unwilljj 
to  appear  before  her  mistress;  but  now  she  seei 
struggling  with  some  violent  emotion.  Mrs.  Bentley 
looked  at  her  in  surprise  and  said  kindly,  "  my  good 
Susan,  you  must  try  to  restrain  your  feelings." 

"  Oh,  what  will  I  do !  what  will  I  say !  The  sorrow 
quite  killed  me,  and  now  my  heart's  broken  entirely  "with 
the  joy  that's  in  store  for  yees,"  and  Susan  put  her  apron 
to  her  face  and  sobbed  aloud. 

Mrs.  Bentley  arose  and  caught  the  girl  by  the  arm ; 
but  in  vain  she  tried  to  articulate. 

"  Oh,  ma'am ! "  exclaimed  Susan,  "  Indade  and  if  the 
shock  kills  yees,  I  can  keep  it  no  longer,  the  swate,  pre- 
cious darling  is  found ! " 

The  change  from  grief  to  overwhelming  joy  was  too 


316  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

great.  The  lady  staggered  back  and  but  for  the  arms  of 
Mrs.  Hammond,  would  have  fallen  to  the  floor.  When 
she  awoke  to  consciousness,  her  blessed  boy  was  kissing 
her  pale  cheeks  and  calling  her  by  the  sweetest  of  names, 
her  husband  had  arisen  from  the  bed,  and  was  kneeling 
by  her  side,  while  the  words,  "  O  God,  I  bless  thee,  for 
thy  undeserved  mercy!  Be  thou  henceforth  my  God 
and  father,"  burst  forth  as  the  expression  of  his  grateful 
heart. 

After  expressing  her  heartfelt  sympathy  with  their  joy 
at  the  restoration  of  their  child,  as  she  had  previously 
done  in  their  sorrow,  Mrs.  Hammond  returned  home, 
that  the  now  united  family  might  be  under  no  restraint 
in  their  new  and  delightful  emotions.  She  obtained 
leave,  however,  to  invite  her  nephew,  Mr.  Wells,  to  call 
upon  them  as  neighbors  on  the  following  day. 

Jarly  the  next  morning,  Mr.  Bentley  rang  at  Mr. 
's  door,  and  requested  an  early  interview.  Upon 
being  admitted  to  the  study,  the  pastor  found  he  wished 
to  consult  him  about  some  measures  to  be  taken  with 
regard  to  the  Norwegian  family  who  had  befriended  his 
child.  He  had  already  been  to  see  the  kind  washer- 
woman, and  found  from  her  account  that  she  attended 
Mr.  Wells's  church,  and  had  worked  in  his  family  for 
nearly  a  year. 

Mr.  Wells  called  his  wife  and  Mrs.  Hammond,  and 
from  them  Mr.  Bentley  learned  of  the  grief  of  the  kind 
woman  when  she  first  ascertained  that  she  must  give  up 
her  adopted  child.  After  Mrs.  Wells  had  expressed  her- 
self warmly  in  praise  of  the  family,  Mr.  Bentley  having 
learned  that  the  husband  was  a  farmer,  was  confirmed  in 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  317 

his  resolution  to  expend  half  the  money  which  he  had 
offered  as  a  reward,  in  the  purchase  of  a  farm  at  the 
West,  and  place  the  other  at  interest  for  their  future  use. 
Until  this  could  be  accomplished,  he  undertook  the  sup- 
port of  the  family,  and  wished  to  place  Meta  at  school. 

The  gratitude  of  the  good  woman  when  Mr.  Bentley 
in  company  with  her  kind  friend,  Mr.  Wells,  called  upon 
her,  and  made  known  his  intentions,  can  hardly  be  de- 
scribed. She  could  at  once  go  to  her  husband  who  was 
disheartened  at  the  prospect  of  the  long  separation  which 
would  be  necessary  before  he  could  support  them  in  their 
new  home ;  but  she  was  earnest  in  her  endeavor  to  con- 
vince him  that  when  she  gave  up  the  child,  she  had  never 
heard  of  the  promised  reward.  She  was  very  grateful 
also  for  the  opportunity  afforded  Meta  of  learning  to  read 
and  write ;  but  respectfully  declined  Mr.  Bentley's  gene- 
rous proposal  to  provide  her  a  better  tenement,  and  sup- 
port her  without  work  until  arrangements  could  be  nUfclr 
for  her  to  join  her  husband.  In  the  course  of  a  few 
months  the  farm  was  purchased  in  Ohio,  and  the  grate- 
ful, happy  wife  with  her  daughter  took  leave  of  their 
friends,  laden  with  everything  which  affection  could  sug- 
gest, to  make  her  new  home  comfortable,  and  in  a  neat 
pocket-book,  put  into  her  hand  just  before  she  started,  by 
her  little  friend  Melville,  was  a  deed  of  the  property 
which  had  been  presented  her  in  his  name. 

27* 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

THE  BRIDE  OF  THE  MILLIONNAIRE. 

THE  spacious  parlors  belonging  to  the  princely  man- 
sion of  Mr.  Russel  Clinton,  were  brilliantly  lighted,  for 
on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  in  question,  the  owner  had 
arrived  with  his  bride  from  their  wedding  tour,  to  take 
possession  of  their  new  abode.  The  house  whose  free- 
stone walls  rose  to  the  height  of  five  stories,  the  iron 
balcony  and  marble  steps,  indeed  everything  about  it 
proved  to  the  passer  by  that  the  residents  were  among 
the  proudest  of  the  aristocracy  of  that  great  city. 

Mr.  Russel  Clinton  was  one  of  the  merchant  princes 
oj^Jew  York.  The  large  business  house  with  which  he 
was  connected,  sent  ships  to  every  sea,  from  which  they 
returned  laden  with  the  most  rare  and  valuable  products. 
Silks  and  teas  from  China,  rice  and  laquered  ware  from 
Japan,  muslins  and  shawls  from  India,  all  were 
procured  that  could  be  turned  into  money,  and  for 
years  this  house  had  been  considered  one  of  the  most 
prosperous  and  flourishing  in  the  city. 

Mr.  Clinton  married  the  daughter  of  his  senior  part- 
ner, and  the  public  journals  had  hardly  ceased  speaking 
of  the  beauty  of  the  bride,  the  magnificence  of  the  bridal 
trousseau,  the  splendor  which  attended  the  nuptials,  be- 
fore they  returned  from  their  trip  to  Niagara,  and  settled 
down  in  their  own  home. 

(318) 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  319 

In  an  ante-room  leading  from  the  back  parlor,  Mr. 
Clinton  with  his  wife  and  three  young  ladies  who  offi- 
ciated as  bridemaids  on  the  late  occasion,  are  gathered 
about  a  table  upon  which  are  placed  almost  every  vari- 
ety of  plate  that  could  be  found  in  a  jeweller's  shop, 
together  with  many  articles  of  bijouterie,  which  it  would 
be  difficult  to  describe.  These  were  the  bride's  wedding 
gifts,  and  had  called  forth  from  her  lips  many  exclama- 
tions of  delight. 

"  Did  you  notice  this  casket,  Josy  ? "  asked  her  hus- 
band, gazing  with  admiration  at  her  brilliant  beauty  to 
which  excitement  had  lent  an  additional  charm. 

"  Oh,  no,  Russel!"  she  answered,  catching  it  from  his 
hand.  "  Your  mother  only  gave  it  to  me  an  hour  before 
we  left;"  and  she  held  up  to  the  light  a  magnificent  ban- 
deau of  pearls  of  the  purest  water. 

"  Oh,  how  lovely !  How  charming !  How  becoming 
they  are !  "  were  echoed  on  every  side,  as  Miss  Le  Row 
twined  them  in  the  owner's  black  hair. 

Josephine  advanced  and  stood  proudly  before  one  of 
the  long  mirrors,  then  catching 'in  the  glass  before  her 
the  gratified  expression  of  her  husband,  she  said  with  en- 
thusiasm, "  Russel,  your  mother  is  a  darling,  and  tny 
first  expression  of  thanks  shall  be  to  her." 

"  Josy,  what's  this  ?  who  can  this  be  from  ? "  asked 
Miss  Glover,  a  laughing,  black  eyed  Miss  of  eighteen, 
holding  up  to  view  a  small  rosewood  box  to  which  a 
curiously  formed  key  was  attached. 

Josephine  advanced  quickly,  and  had  no  sooner  taken 
it  than  she  exclaimed,  "  There !  I  knew  she  would  send 
something.  That  is  aunt  Sarah's  box,  and  T  have 


320  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

wondered  and  wondered  what  they  would  give  me  ;  but 
I  looked  over  all  the  cards  two  or  three  times,  and  could 
find  nothing  from  her  or  from  uncle  James.  It  is  some- 
thing handsome,  I  know.  Come,  girls,  guess;  you  know 
they're  rich  as  Jews,  though  they  live  in  such  old- 
fashioned  style." 

"  I  shouldn't  be  at  all  surprised  if  it  was  a  diamond 
necklace  or  ear-rings,"  answered  Miss  Le  Row,  with  a 
half-sigh,  as  she  hoped  her  turn  to  receive  presents 
would  soon  come. 

"  Well,  I  can't  wait  any  longer,"  called  out  the  bride, 
actually  trembling  with  impatience  to  see  the  con- 
tents ;  "  I  have  seen  this  box  standing  on  aunt  Sarah's 
bureau  ever  since  1  can  remember ; "  and  as  she  spoke 
the  cover  flew  open,  revealing  to  the  astonished  eyes  of 
the  eager  group,  not  pink  cotton  surrounding  diamonds, 
not  even  pearls,  but  a  plain  folded  paper  underneath 
which  was  a  letter  addressed,  "  To  my  dear  niece,  Jose- 
phine Talbot." 

The  disappointment  was  too  great.  Poor  Josephine 
whose  fancy  had  gone  even  beyond  the  imagination  of 
her  companion,  and  had  led  her  to  expect  to  see  a  full 
set  of  brilliants,  could  not  restrain  her  tears.  She  scorn- 
fully pushed  the  box  from  her,  without  even  perusing  the 
letter.  "  There  ! "  she  exclaimed,  passionately,  "  I  don't 
care  now  for  all  the  rest,  I'm  so  provoked  at  the  mean- 
ness of  aunt  Sarah  and  uncle  James,"  —  and  her  beauti- 
ful features  were  distorted  with  anger. 

Mr.  Clinton  gazed  for  one  moment  as  if  he  could 
hardly  credit  his  senses ;  but  the  thought,  "  she  is  young, 
and  has  not  been  taught  to  restrain  herself"  darted  thro' 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  321 

his  mind,  and  he  said,  soothingly,  "  but  you  care  for  me, 
dearest ;  and  you  shall  have  whatever  you  desire." 

Josephine  snatched  away  her  hand  which  he  had 
taken  and  said,  "  No,  I  care  for  nobody ;  it 's  always 
just  so ;  when  I  set  my  heart  upon  anything  I'm  sure 
to  be  disappointed." 

The  feelings  of  the  husband  were  so  outraged,  that 
she  should  place  her  jewelry  in  comparison  with  his 
affection,  that  his  first  impulse  was  to  turn  from  his 
wife,  and  leave  the  room  ;  but  a  moment's  reflection 
restrained  him. 

"  Josephine,"  said  he,  more  firmly ;  "  tell  me,  what  did 
you  want  ?  what  did  you  expect  ? " 

But  the  weeping  bride  would  make  no  reply.  Already 
she  began  to  feel  ashamed  of  this  first  exhibition  of  tem- 
per in  the  presence  of  her  husband,  but  was  too  proud 
to  confess  her  folly.  An  awkward  silence  followed, 
and  soon  the  bridemaids  took  their  departure. 

As  soon  as  Josephine  was  left  alone,  she  retired  to 
her  own  room.  She  had  not  yet  found  time  to  examine 
and  admire  the  taste  and  elegance  of  the  costly  furniture 
which  everywhere  met  her  eye,  and  now  she  was  too 
unhappy  to  do  so.  She  leaned  her  Head  upon  her  hands, 
and  shed  tears  of  mortification  and  regret.  She  cared 
not  for  her  companions.  They  had  often  witnessed  these 
bursts  of  temper  which  the  slightest  annoyance  would 
call  forth;  but  she  could  not  forget  the  expression  of 
contempt  with  which  her  husband  had  regarded  her  as 
he  left  the  room  to  accompany  her  companions  to  their 
residence  in  the  next  street.  Once  the  thought  oc- 
curred, "  I  will  tell  him  I  am  sorry  and  ashamed  of  my 


322  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  *, 

conduct ; "  but  the  moment  she  heard  his  step  mounting 
the  stairs,  she  flew  into  the  adjoining  boudoir,  and  hastily 
commenced  undressing  herself. 

Mr.  Clinton  made  no  attempt  to  follow  her,  but  went 
quietly  to  bed. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Clinton,  having  laid  awake 
half  the  night  deciding  what  course  to  pursue,  appeared 
at  breakfast  in  the  most  bewitching  of  French  morning 
caps,  and  really  exerted  herself  to  be  agreeable ;  and 
though,  at  first,  the  gentleman  answered  only  by  mono- 
syllables, he  could  not  long  resist  the  influence  of  her 
smiles,  and  their  first  breakfast  was  on  the  whole  a 
charming  repast. 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  ourselves  till  dinner  ?  "  she 
asked,  as  they  arose  from  the  table. 

"  I  think,"  returned  Mr.  Clinton,  "  it  would  be  well  to 
call  a  servant  and  put  the  articles  in  the  next  room  in 
their  proper  places.  I  cannot  say  I  admire  the  fashion 
of  exhibiting  such  gifts." 

"  Why,  Russel,"  she  answered  with  enthusiasm,  "  that 
is  just  what  they  are  given  for.  Do  you  suppose  Mrs. 
Brace  or  Mrs.  Ames  or  Mrs.  Gray  would  have  purchased 
that  elegant  urn  or  fealver  or  set  of  forks  if  they  had  not 
known  that  they  would  be  talked  about  and  praised  as 
presenting  the  most  expensive  gifts  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say  what  their  motives  were ;  but  I  had 
supposed,''  he  added  with  a  slight  degree  of  sarcasm  in 
his  tone,  "that  they  intended  them  as  expressions  of 
affection  for  you.  I  know  my  mother  had  no  suc-h 
expectation  in  her  humble  gift,  but  presented  it  to  her 
new  daughter  in  the  sincere  desire  to  give  her  pleasure." 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  323 

As  the  lady  made  no  reply,  Mr.  Clinton,  after  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation  whether  or  not  to  break  through  the 
rules  of  etiquette  and  go  to  his  store,  took  a  paper  and 
sat  down  to  its  perusal. 

"  Oh,  Russel,  do  come  here ! "  called  Mrs.  Clinton,  be- 
fore he  had  had  time  to  glance  down  one  column :  "  Did 
you  ever  hear  anything  so  spiteful?"  And  she  read 
aloud :  — 

"Dear  Josy,— 

"  I  suppose  you  have  been  expecting  a  present  from 
me ;  and  have  hoped  for  something  which  would  reflect 
honor  upon  the  taste  of  your  maiden  aunt ;  but  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  I  am  an  old-fashioned  spinster,  and  I  do 
not  approve  of  many  of  the  new-fangled  notions  which 
obtain  such  favor  at  the.  present  day.  In  particular  I 
disapprove  of  the  manner  of  presenting  bridal  gifts.  I 
think  it  is  ostentation  which  prompts  them,  and  ostenta- 
tion which  is  cultivated  by  them,  and  as  your  uncle 
agrees  with  me,  we  have  concluded  not  to  follow  the 
fashion  but  leave  baubles  to  others,  and  unite  in  present- 
ing you  the  enclosed. 

"  Your  loving  Aunt  and  Uncle." 

"  Shameful !  is  n't  it  ?  "  she  added,  glancing  at  her 
husband,  as  she  unfolded  the  paper,  and  handed  it  to 
him.  "  Only  an  old  paper  of  advice." 

"  Shameful,  Josy  ?  It  is  noble ;  it  is  generous ;  you 
don't  understand.  This  is  a  deed." 

"  What  is  a  deed,  Russel  ?  "  she  asked,  as  his  eyes 
were  fixed  intently  on  the  paper. 


324  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

Her  husband  soon  succeeded  in  making  her  understand 
that  her  kind  friends  had  presented  her  with  the  beautiful 
suburban  cottage  where  her  uncle  always  resided  in  sum- 
mer. The  property  had  been  secured  to  her,  together 
with  an  annual  income  of  five  hundred  dollars.  The 
house  was  to  be  occupied,  as  at  present,  by  Mr.  James 
Wallace,  he  paying  three  hundred  dollars  rent,  which 
was  to  be  added  to  the  principal.  One  clause  at  the 
close,  however,  excited  a  merry  peal  of  laughter  from  the 
bride,  and  even  a  smile  from  her  husband ;  and  this  was, 
that  she  could  never  have  the  use  of  the  cottage  or  the 
money,  until  some  misfortune  or  change  in  her  circum- 
stances, should  render  it  necessary  for  her  support. 

The  morning  was  fine,  and  Josephine  easily  persuaded 
her  husband  to  ride  with  her  to  Oakland  Cottage,  and 
present  her  thanks  in  person  to.  uncle  James. 

Mr.  Wallace,  the  gentleman  in  question,  was  at  work 
in  the  garden,  when  his  niece  arrived.  He  was  delighted 
to  see  her,  and  accompanied  her  around  the  grounds, 
which  were  in  fine  order,  under  his  own  superintendence. 
They  then  returned  to  the  cottage  where  he  ordered 
luncheon,  and  they  prepared  to  take  leave  in  high  spirits. 
Josephine  said  gayly,  "  This  present  is  just  like  aunt 
Sarah,  but  the  prospect  of  the  possession  is  so  far  in  the 
distance  that  I  think  I  should  have  preferred  something 
in  my  hand,  as  I  used  to  say  when  I  was  a  child." 

"  You  are  nothing  but  a  child  now,  Miss,  and  a  wilful 
one  too,"  responded  uncle  James,  playfully  patting  her 
cheek ;  you  will  have  to  hold  a  pretty  tight  rein,"  he  ad- 
ded, turning  to  the  husband. 

"  Oh,  I  think  we  shall  get  along  charmingly ! "  he  re- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  325 

plied,  forgetting  for  the  moment  everything  but  her  sur- 
passing beauty  as  she  gazed  lovingly  in  his  face. 

Four  years  of  uninterrupted  prosperity  to  the  young 
merchant  passed  away;  but  at  the  end  of  that  time 
shrewd  business  men  began  to  see  that  a  crisis  in  the 
commercial  world  was  fast  approaching;  and  some,  by 
wisely  reducing  their  sales,  began  to  make  preparations 
for  it.  Of  this  class,  however,  was  not  Mr.  Clinton.  He 
had  always  been  successful,  and  he  could  not  understand 
why  he  should  not  always  be  so.  Everything  which  he 
touched  seemed  to  turn  to  gold,  and  he  had  acquired 
the  reputation  of  an  exceedingly  fortunate  man. 

This  was  true  only  in  his  mercantile  life,  for  his  home 
was  anything  but  pleasant.  Two  children  had  been 
born  to  him,  a  noble,  warm  hearted  boy,  now  three  years 
old,  and  a  beautiful  girl  of  eighteen  months. 

During  the  years  which  had  passed  since  her  mar- 
riage, Mrs.  Clinton,  by  her  variable  temper,  and  the  fre- 
quency of  her  complaints  of  her  husband,  had  gradually 
alienated  his  affections  from  herself.  A  story  had  of  late 
reached  her  ears,  of  his  devotion  to  Miss  Hobart,  a  young 
lady  who  was  visiting  in  New  York,  and,  indeed,  there 
appeared  to  be  some  truth  in  the  report,  though  when 
accused  by  his  wife  of  unfaithfulness  to  her,  of  having 
forgotten  his  oft-repeated  vows  of  never  dying  affection, 
he  neither  confirmed  nor  denied  the  charge,  but  usually 
began  to  hum  a  tune  or  take  up  a  newspaper,  to  show 
her  that  he  treated  the  subject  with  the  utmost  con- 
tempt. 

Little  did  Mrs.  Clinton  realize  the  danger  of  the  course 
28 


326  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

she  was  pursuing,  both  with  regard  to  her  o\v*i  happiness 
and  that  of  her  husband  and  children.  He  was  more 
and  more  estranged  from  her,  passed  more  and  more 
time  at  his  counting  room,  and  his  evenings  in  places  of 
amusement,  often,  alas!  in  the  society  of  those  with 
whom  he  would  have  blushed  to  meet  his  wife,  or  any 
one  of  his  acquaintance  whose  good  opinion  he  prized ; 
and  less  and  less  in  the  company  of  those  whom  it  was 
his  duty  to  love  and  cherish. 

Sometimes  he  sighed  as  he  remembered  the  fond  an- 
ticipations of  happiness  he  had  indulged  before  his  mar- 
riage, and  tried  to  retrace  his  steps  and  to  pay  his  wife 
the  attentions  which,  now  that  she  had  lost  them,  she 
coveted ;  but,  generally,  one  evening  at  home  was  as 
much  as  his  patience  would  endure,  for  Josephine,  not  at 
all  understanding  his  motives,  or  endeavoring  to  assist 
him  in  his  good  resplutions  by  rendering  the  occasion  so 
pleasant  that  he  would  be  induced  to  repeat  it,  eagerly 
embraced  the  opportunity  to  upbraid  him  for  his  cruel  de- 
sertion of  her  and  her  children,  and  expressed  her  won- 
der that  he  dared  show  his  face  at  home. 

On  one  occasion  Mr.  Clinton  happened  to  meet  at  the 
house  of  a  mutual  friend,  the  aunt  Sarah  who  was  spoken 
of  at  the  beginning  of  this  chapter.  The  kind  lady,  spin- 
ster though  she  was,  drew  her  nephew  into  a  retired  cor- 
ner and  inquired  for  his  family. 

"  They  are  well,  I  presume,"  was  the  reply ;  "  that  is, 
I  know  nothing  to  the  contrary,"  and  he  endeavored  to 
turn  the  subject  into  another  channel ;  but  she  had  a  noble 
motive  in  pursuing  it,  and  she  said  pleasantly,  "  but,  Rus- 
sel,  you  do  not  feel  as  indifferent  as  you  appear.  I  re- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  327 

member  you  as  a  most  devoted  lover,  indeed  I  confess  to 
some  longings  for  one  who  would  so  unselfishly  yield  to 
all  my  wishes,  be  blind  to  my  faults,  and  adore  my  vir- 
tues as  you  did  Josy's." 

Mr.  Clinton  smiled  as  his  aunt  was  speaking ;  but  the 
smile  was  quickly  succeeded  by  a  look  of  bitterness  as 
he  replied,  "  Years  ago  I  discovered  the  folly  of  expecting 
happiness  in  being  united  to  one  who  is  not  contented 
with  thinking  herself  a  saint,  but  must  make  out  that 
every  one  with  whom  she  is  connected  is  a  sinner  of  the 
deepest  dye. 

"  Why  aunt,"  he  added,  breaking  out  with  indignation, 
"  I  can  take  my  oath  that  for  a  year  Josephine  has  never 
spoken  to  me  kindly  or  pleasantly,  or  in  a  wife-like  man- 
ner ;  not  once,  as  you  did  just  now." 

Aunt  Sarah  sighed,  as  she  feared  this  was  too  true. 
"  But  have  you  done  your  duty,  my  dear  nephew  ?  I 
acknowledge  she  has  a  high  temper ;  that  was  her  infir- 
mity when  a  child ;  and  I  never  could  persuade  my  sister 
that  she  was  wrong  in  not  subduing  it.  Josephine  has 
many  fine  traits.  I  believe  she  really  loves  you  and  her 
children." 

"  She  gives  astonishing  evidence  of  it,  certainly,"  re- 
sponded the  incensed  husband. 

"  But  the  children,  Russel  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  children,"  repeated  he,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  "  I 
love  Albert  I  suppose  as  well  as  any  father  loves  his 
child ;  but  when  my  mere  speaking  to  him  is  made  an 
occasion  for  reproach,  and  I  am  called  hard  names  in  his 
presence,  1  think  it  best  to  keep  out  of  his  way.  As  for 


328  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  | 

Emma,  I  have  not  seen  the  child  for  a  month,  except  as 
I  sometimes  pass  her  in  the  carriage  with  her  mother." 

"  That  is  wrong,  all  wrong,  I  know  you  will  pardon 
me  for  saying  so,  as  I  have  no  motive  but  your  good." 

"  You  cannot  be  more  painfully  aware  of  it  than  I  am  ; 
and  I  presume,  Josephine  would  give  you  quite  a  tragi- 
cal story  of  my  mis-doing  in  that  particular ;  but  the 
truth  of  the  case  is  just  this.  I  am  actively  employed  all 
day  in  my  business,  and  am  often  wearied  and  perplexed 
with  a  multiplicity  of  cares;  I  return  home  at  night,  and 
instead  of  finding  a  wife  who  will  cheer  me  by  her  enliv- 
ening conversation,  and  soothe  me  by  her  affection,  I  am 
received  with  reproaches  that  I  did  not  come  before, 
charged  with  ill-treating  my  wife,  having  no  natural  af- 
fection for  my  children,  and  with  the  grossest  crimes, 
which  if  I  have  committed  I  have  been  driven  to  do  so 
by  her  treatment.  If  I  am  deaf  to  all  this,  and  ring  to 
have  the  nurse  bring  in  the  children,  then  the  tune  is 
changed,  and  I  am  accused  of  only  coming  into  the 
house  to  be  an  annoyance  and  a  bore ;  and  nine  times 
out  of  ten  the  order  is  countermanded,  and  I  am  forbid- 
den the  sight  of  them.  Now  this  is  all  dreadful ;  but  it 
is  true,  and  I  confess  I  am  heartily  sick  of  the  life  I 
lead." 

The  conversation  was  here  suddenly  interrupted  by 
the  appearance  of  Miss  Hobart,  the  lady  before  men- 
tioned, who  with  a  very  sweet  smile,  begged  to  know  if 
she  were  an  intruder,  or  if  she  might  be  allowed  to  rest 
in  that  retreat  where  all  seemed  to  be  peaceful  and 
happy. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  329 

Miss  Wallace  only  fanned  herself,  but  her  nephew 
made  up  for  her  want  of  cordiality  by  a  complimentary 
assurance  that  she  never  could  be  considered  an  intruder. 
Her  presence  was  always  welcome. 

Miss  Hobart  tapped  him  playfully  with  her  fan,  ex- 
claiming, "  oh,  you  flatterer !  But  to  return  to  what  I  was 
saying,  I  am  really  sick  of  all  this  heartless  show.  I  do 
love  quiet,  or  rather  the  society  of  a  few  congenial  souls 
with  whom  in  the  retirement  and  bliss  of  the  home-circle 
I  can  have  sweet  communion." 

The  speaker  was  a  celebrated  beauty,  the  lips  which 
uttered  the  truly  refined  sentiment,  were  of  the  richest 
ruby,  and  at  the  close  she  cast  a  regretful  glance  at  her 
admirer,  and  then  raised  them  to  heaven.  Ah,  Miss  Ho- 
bart had  often  been  told  her  best  attitude  was  that  of  a 
Madonna!  No  wonder  then  that  though  Miss  Wallace 
pursed  her  mouth  to  its  smallest  compass,  and  heartily 
wished  the  lady  who  was  thus  weaving  a  snare  around 
the  husband  of  her  niece  any  where  but  in  New  York ; 
yet  Mr.  Clinton  was  almost  bewildered  with  the  idea 
that  here  then  was  one  lady  who  possessed  not  only 
great  beauty  and  varied  accomplishments,  but  a  warm, 
affectionate  heart,  yearning  for  the  delightful  joys  of 
home. 

"Oh!"  he  thought,  "would  it  had  been  my  fate  to 
have  married  her !  I  should  have  been  a  far  better  and 
happier  man.  Starting  up  suddenly  he  offered  the  lady 
his  arm,  and  bowing  to  his  aunt,  soon  forgot  the  ex- 
istence of  every  body  but  himself  and  her  who  was  by  his 
side. 

28* 


330  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

A  few  weeks  after  this  the  attentions  of  Mr.  Clinton 
to  the  fair  lady  were  brought  to  an  abrupt  termination 
by  the  sudden  failure  of  one  of  the  largest  houses  in  the 
city,  a  firm  so  intimately  connected  with  his  own  that 
Mr.  Clinton  for  the  first  time  began  to  realize  the  danger 
which  others  had  for  months  foreseen.  But  even  now 
he  was  opposed  to  retrenchment.  They  were  doing  an 
enormous  business  and  had  credit  at  the  banks  to  any 
amount.  He  persuaded  his  father-in-law  to  hold  on  a 
little  longer,  encouraging  him  with  the  assertion  that 
they  need  have  no  fears.  But  while  he  would  not  con- 
fess it  even  to  himself,  Mr.  Clinton  did  tremble  at  the 
bare  idea  of  a  failure,  though  he  knew  that  if  their  bills 
were  paid,  they  could  dollar  by  dollar  meet  all  their  lia- 
bilities. These  apprehensions  so  disturbed  him  that  he 
could  neither  eat  nor  sleep.  His  business  had  been  his 
god,  he  had  been  envied  for  his  superior  shrewdness  and 
good  fortune.  What  would  be  said  of  him  if  what  he 
dreaded  should  ever  come  to  pass  ?  He  made  up  his 
mind  to  one  course ;  he  would  leave  the  country.  He 
had  no  ties  here  to  keep  him,  and  he  actually  shrank 
from  the  torrent  of  reproach  he  knew  he  should  be  called 
upon  to  endure  from  his  wife.  Then  he  believed  she 
would  rejoice  at  his  absence,  and  sometimes  the  thought 
of  taking  another  lady  as  his  companion,  darted  through 
his  mind.  Would  she  consent  ?  He  had  no  doubt  on 
that  point. 

One  morning  when  about  to  rise  from  his  bed,  he 
found  himself  wholly  unable.  He  had  passed  a  sleepless 
night,  and  awoke  when  the  sun  was  high  in  the  heavens 


OR,   THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  331 

from  an  unrefreshing  nap  after  daylight.  His  wife  had 
joined  a  party  to  the  springs,  leaving  the  children  in  the 
care  of  the  nurse.  He  rang  the  bell  and  ordered  the 
servant  to  bring  a  cup  of  coffee  to  his  bed,  and  to  send 
word  to  the  store  thas  he  was  ill. 

In  the  course  of  an  hour  his  father-in-law  visited  him, 
and  found  him  suffering  from  an  attack  of  fever.  A 
physician  was  immediately  summoned,  and  forbid  his 
leaving  the  house  for  the  day. 

"  Better  send  for  Josy,"  said  her  father  as  he  was 
leaving  the  room. 

"  Oh,  no,  that  is  not  necessary!"  he  eagerly  replied,  for 
he  dreaded  the  idea  of  being  obliged  to  stay  and  endure 
her  angry  reproaches. 

"  Well,  do  as  you  please,  but  get  well  as  fast  as  you 
can.  There  was  never  a  worse  time  for  you  to  be 
absent  from  the  counting-room." 

"  I  dare  say  I  shall  be  well  to-morrow." 

But  neither  to-morrow  nor  for  a  week  did  he  leave  his 
chamber.  Mr.  Talbot  visited  him  every  day,  and  some- 
times two  or  three  times  a  day  for  consultation  respecting 
business,  but  all  in  vain,  the  crisis  was  fast  approaching, 
and  one  morning  the  papers  announced  the  fact  of  the 
suspension  of  the  great  house  of  Talbot  and  Clinton. 

This  was  in  1837,  and  this  great  failure  caused  the 
hearts  of  many  to  quake  with  fear,  in  some  instances 
not  without  reason,  for  it  was  foUowed  by  the  ruin  of 
many  smaller  houses,  until  public  confidence  seemed  to 
be  destroyed. 

The  day  before  this  sad  event,  Mr.  Clinton,  closely 
wrapped  from  the  damp  air,  for  it  was  raining  violently, 


332  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND     MARRIAGES; 

was  carried  to  the  counting-room.  His  partners  had  be- 
come so  accustomed  to  depending  upon  him  to  meet 
coming  payments  that  they  thought  if  he  were  only  there 
for  half  an  hour  he  could  advise  what  course  to  pursue. 
He  returned  to  his  house  with  the  certainty  that  he  was 
a  bankrupt. 

For  the  ten  days  he  had  been  at  home  he  had  seen 
more  of  his  children  than  in  all  their  previous  lives.  A 
father's  love  had  been  strongly  called  into  exercise  to  the 
exclusion  of  every  other  affection.  Perfumed  notes  from 
Miss  Hobart  were  read  and  returned  unanswered  to  the 
drawer,  with  one  exception ;  when  he  penned  the  few 
words :  "  I  am  ill,  and  cannot  comply  with  your  in- 
vitation." % 

Albert  was  a  child  well  calculated  to  call  forth  a 
parent's  tenderness.  He  was  a  noble,  affectionate  boy, 
and  rapidly  won  his  way,  by  his  endearing  words  and 
soothing  attentions,  to  his  sick  father's  heart. 

"  Don't  it  feel  a  little  better,  papa  ?  "  he  asked  again 
and  again,  after  gently  smoothing  back  the  jetty  waves 
of  hair  until  assured  that  his  patient  was  much  relieved. 

Emma  was  for  a  day  or  two  timid  in  approaching  one 
who  was  so  much  of  a  stranger ;  but  seeing  the  fearless- 
ness of  her  brother,  she  soon  became  willing  to  sit  on  the 
bed  by  his  side,  and  even  to  take  her  nap  with  her  curly 
head  lying  upon  his  breast 

Mr.  Clinton  was  surprised  at  the  strength  of  the  affec- 
tion which  had  so  suddenly  sprang  up  for  these  loved 
ones.  "  I  will  bear  poverty  and  trial,  everything  but  dis- 
honor for  their  sake,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  looked  forward 
to  a  change  in  his  circumstances,  and  remembered  the 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  333 

resolution  he  had  formed  to  leave  home :  "  I  could  beal 
it  manfully  if  I  had  a  good  wife." 

The  night  before  the  failure  was  announced  was  such 
a  night  as  he  had  never  before  passed.  Visions  of  a 
man  at  whom  his  fellows  would  point  in  derision,  for  he 
had  fallen  from  a  high  place,  and  knew  enough  of  hu- 
man nature  to  be  sure  that  many  would  exult  in  his  fall ; 
and  also  of  an  incensed  woman  upbraiding  him  as  the 
cause  of  her  ruin,  Avere  constantly  floating  before  his 
excited  imagination.  Then  came  the  thought  of  a  sweet 
face,  and  lips  which  had  tremblingly  answered  to  an 
avowal  of  his  unholy  love,  and  an  evil  spirit  tempted 
him  to  flee  to  her  in  his  distress.  But  then  he  must  give 
up  his  children  ;  and  now  arose  a  dreadful  tumult  in  his 
breast.  The  good  spirit  struggled  manfully,  and  at 
length  gained  the  victory.  The  gentle  voice  of  his  lovely 
babes  sounded  in  his  ears,  "  Papa,  I  love  you,"  and  he 
resolved  for  their  sake  to  resist  the  solicitations  of  his 
corrupt  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE  SEPARATION. 

NEWS  of  the  fall  of  the  great  house  of  Talbot  &  Clin- 
ton quickly  reached  Saratoga,  and  Mrs.  Clinton  took  a 
hurried  leave  of  her  friends  and  returned  home. 

Little  realizing  with  what  intensity  of  emotion  her 
husband  was  waiting  to  receive  her,  the  young  wife 
reached  her  elegant  abode,  and  proceeded  at  once  to  her 
chamber.  In  the  presence  of  her  friends,  on  board  the 
boat  as  she  came  down  the  river,  she  had  been  obliged  to 
restrain  all  outward  manifestation  of  her  chagrin,  and 
she  longed  to  be  alone  that  she  might  give  vent  to  her 
feelings  of  keen  mortification  and  anger.  To  be  sure 
she  could  not  understand  all  the  changes  which  must 
necessarily  follow;  but  she  realized  enough  to  know  that 
it  would  be  considered  a  dreadful  disgrace. 

As  soon  as  her  husband  knew  she  was  in  the  house 
he  proceeded  to  her  room.  His  heart  was  softened,  and 
he  was  conscious  of  strong  emotions  of  pity  toward 
her  in  these  trying  circumstances.  When  he  entered  she 
had  thrown  off  her  bonnet,  and  was  leaning  her  head  on 
her  arm  indulging  the  most  passionate  grief. 

"  Josephine,  my  dear  wife,"  said  he,  approaching  her ; 
"  do  not  give  way  in  this  manner.  To  be  sure  our 
property  is  gone ;  but  we  still  have  a  pleasant  home  in 
the  cottage  your  aunt  gave  you,  and  I  will  work  man 

(334) 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  335 

fully  for  you  and  the  children  if  you  will  only  love  me 
as  you  once  did." 

At  first  she  did  not  reply ;  but  when  he  went  on  en- 
deavoring to  soothe  her,  she  started  to  her  feet,  and  with 
her  countenance  blazing  with  indignation,  asked :  "  How 
dare  you  ask  my  love  ? — You,  who  have  outraged  every 
law  of  propriety,  and  made  yourself  so  notorious  in 
your  shame  that  I  must  be  pointed  at  as  a  deserted  wife ; 
and,  in  addition  to  all  this,  by  neglect  of  your  proper 
business,  reduced  your  family  to  poverty  and  disgrace." 

"  Stop,  Josephine ! "  he  exclaimed  catching  hold  of  her 
arm.  "When  you  can  talk  in  a  less  excited  strain,  I 
will  hear  you ;  but  I  will  not  listen  to  such  charges.  You 
know  them  to  be  untrue." 

"  Deny  them,  if  you  dare,"  she  answered,  with  a  sneer. 
"  Deny  that  you  have  been  guilty  of  improper  intimacy 
with  Miss  Hobart,  and  I  will  forgive  you  everything 
else." 

"  I  do  deny  it ;  that  is,  I  deny  that  anything  criminal 
has  taken  place  between  us ;  but  I  cannot  deny  that  she 
has  interested  me  more  than  any  lady  with  whom  I  am 
acquainted.  When  I  have  been  driven  from  home,  I 
have  taken  refuge  in  her  society.  There,  at  least,  I  am 
received  with  smiles,  never  with  reproaches.  But  now, 
Josephine,  I  am  ready  to  take  my  oath  that  I  will  never 
voluntarily  see  her  again ;  that  I  will  become  to  you  an 
affectionate  husband,  and  try  to  perform  my  duty  toward 
my  children,  if  you  will  be  to  me  what  you  were  before 
our  marriage.  We  may  yet  be  happy  ;  perhaps  happier 
than  ever.  Though  our  fortune  has  gone ;  yet  my  name 
as  a  man  of  business  is  not  dishonored.  Many  gentle- 


336  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

men  have  assured  me  that  there  has  not  been  such  a  cri- 
sis in  the  commercial  world,  within  their  remembrance ; 
and  that  a  failure  now  is  to  be  looked  upon  in  an  entirely 
different  light  from  what  it  would  be  at  another  time.  I 
have  already  received  offers  to  go  into  a  new  business. 
In  the  meantime  we  might  live  with  uncle  James,  and 
probably  enjoy  ourselves  more  rationally  than  we  ever 
did." 

While  her  husband  was  speaking  in  an  impassioned 
manner,  Josephine's  better  nature  was  aroused,  and  she 
was  strongly  tempted  to  throw  herself  into  her  husband's 
arms,  confess  her  own  folly  in  having  driven  him  from 
home,  and  promise  to  become  to  him  a  true  and  loving 
wife ;  but  alas,  pride  forbade !  Confession  was  what  had 
never  passed  her  lips ;  and  she  could  not  humble  herself 
to  begin  now. 

Mr.  Clinton  watched  every  variation  in  her  counte- 
nance, and  as  she  began  a  fresh  stream  of  abuse,  he  in- 
terrupted her. 

"  Josephine,  this  is  too  serious  a  subject  to  decide  has- 
tily. It  involves  my  happiness  for  life,  perhaps  your 
own.  If  you  are  not  willing  to  do  your  part  to  make 
home  happy,  how  can  you  expect  that  I  shall  do  so.  If 
you  still  are  determined  to  pursue  the  course  with  regard 
to  me,  which  has  alienated  my  affections,  1  shall  leave 
the  country  forever.  I  have  the  right  to  take  the  chil- 
dren ;  but  I  will  not  do  so  cruel  a  thing  as  to  tear  them 
from  their  mother,  and  condemn  them  to  the  wandering 
life  I  shall  be  obliged  to  lead.  Therefore  I  wish  you  to 
take  time,  say  till  to-morrow  morning,  and  then  tell  me 
what  you  mean  to  do." 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  337 

Fully  assured  that  this  was  only  a  threat  to  reduce 
her  to  terms,  Mrs.  Clinton  retorted,  "  you  are  very  consid- 
erate ;  but  I  am  quite  as  ready  to  decide  now  as  then." 

"  And  what  is  your  decision  ? "  he  asked  eagerly,  ad- 
vancing a  step  toward  her. 

"  That  it  would  be  better  for  us  to  part ;  that  I  should 
feel  no  security  in  the  honor  of  a  man  who  has  been  un- 
faithful to  his  wife,  and  as  I  repeat  with  reason  has  de- 
prived her  of  her  patrimony  by  his  vices  and  neglect." 

Mr.  Clinton  staggered  under  the  weight  of  this  blow. 
It  was  wholly  unexpected.  Could  he  give  up  his  chil- 
dren ?  "  Cruel,  cruel  woman ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  have 
spoken  the  words  which  condemn  me  to  be  an  exile  from 
country  and  home ;  but  I  will  not  receive  this  decision 
as  final.  I  will  give  you  until  to-morrow  morning  to  re- 
verse it,"  and  he  suddenly  left  the  room,  and  went  imme- 
diately to  the  nursery. 

The  children  flew  to  meet  him,  little  suspecting  what 
changes  were  befojre  them ;  and  he  clasped  them  again 
and  again  to  his  heart. 

"  Papa  hurt  Emma,"  lisped  the  child  almost  frightened 
at  the  ardor  of  his  embiace.  He  sat  down,  talked  and 
played  with  them  until  a  ring  from  his  wife's  room,  and 
an  order  for  the  children  to  be  brought  to  her. 

He  passed  the  day  in  making  arrangements  for  his  de- 
parture, and  for  the  support  of  his  wife  during  his  ab- 
sence. As  the  firm  had  given  up  all  their  property  to 
meet  their  demands,  not  reserving  a  farthing  for  them- 
selves, the  creditors  who  were  in  the  city,  were  disposed 
to  act  in  an  honorable  and  creditable  manner  with  regard 
to  them.  It  was  proposed  that  Mr.  Clinton  should  go  to 
29 


338  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

Calcutta,  and  adjust  the  business  there,  and  the  creditors 
gave  him  unlimited  power  to  manage  for  them.  In  the 
course  of  the  day  he  also  drove  out  to  see  uncle  James, 
and  made  arrangements  for  his  wife  and  children  to 
move  to  Oakland  at  once,  if  it  should  be  her  wish  to  do 
so.  He  gave  himself  no  time  for  thought  or  reflection. 
One  call  which  he  made  in  the  evening,  it  is  painful  to 
record.  This  was  upon  Miss  Hobart ;  he  had  not  seen 
her  since  his  sickness,  and  the  sad  change  in  his  pros- 
pects ;  but  judging  from  the  beautiful  sentiments  he  had 
heard  from  her  lips,  he  supposed  she  would  be  more 
friendly  than  before.  He  was  shown  into  the  parlor 
of  the  house  where  she  was  visiting,  and  giving  the  ser- 
vant his  card,  requested  her  to  inform  the  lady  that  he 
wished  to  see  her.  The  girl  soon  returned  with  a  mes- 
sage that  Miss  Hobart  was  engaged.  He  immediately 
tore  a  piece  of  paper  from  a  letter  in  his  hat,  and  wrote 
upon  it,  that  he  expected  to  leave  the  country  in  the 
morning,  and  wished  to  see  her  once  more  before  his  de- 
parture. 

In  a  few  moments  she  made  her  appearance,  when,  in 
a  hurried  manner,  he  informed  her  of  what  had  taken 
place ;  that  he  should  probably  never  return  to  America, 
and  invited  her  to  accompany  him. 

With  a  great  show  of  virtuous  indignation,  the  lady 
declined  the  honor  of  his  proposal,  and  wondered  he  could 
have  so  mistaken  her  character. 

"  I  have  indeed  mistaken  it,"  he  added,  "  if  it  is  a  re- 
gard for  virtue  which  prevents  you.  When  last  I  saw 
you  I  was  Mr.  Clinton,  a  miUionnaire.  To-day,  I  am 
Mr.  Clinton,  a  beggar.  From  the  millionnaire  you  have 


OR,  THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  339 

received  costly  presents  and  attentions  such  as  you  knew 
I  had  no  right  to  pay  you.  To  the  beggar  you  denied 
even  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  when  I  call ;  but  I  am 
satisfied,  and  hereafter  I  shall  thank  you  for  saving  me 
from  the  sin  I  was  about  to  commit.  Yes,  I  shall  esteem 
this  as  the  most  fortunate  call  I  ever  made."  They 
parted  with  mutual  recriminations. 

It  seemed  to  Josephine  as  if  that  long  day  would  never 
close,  for  to  her  it  was  far  more  trying  than  to  her  hus- 
band. She  found  it  impossible  to  believe  that  he  would 
ever  leave  her  and  the  children,  who  were  now  constantly 
calling  for  him ;  and  yet  the  bare  possibility  of  it  made 
her  heart  almost  cease  to  beat.  By  every  possible  excuse 
she  tried  to  justify  her  own  conduct  and  to  criminate  him  ; 
but  amidst  all  this  she  sometimes  stopped  in  her  rapid 
walk  across  her  chamber,  as  conscience  whispered,  "  His 
sin  lieth  at  thy  door."  If  she  could  have  been  assured 
that  he  was  making  arrangements  to  leave  for  India,  un- 
der the  apprehension  of  the  course  she  intended  to  pur- 
sue, she  would  have  forced  her  lips  to  the  simple  words, 
"  I  have  erred ; "  but  alas !  when  they  were  spoken  it  was 
too  late. 

I  will  not  delay  on  this  painful  scene.  It  is  sufficient 
to  say  that  Mr.  Clinton  reached  home  at  eleven  o'clock, 
and  retired  immediately  to  a  room  by  himself,  where  he 
passed  the  night  in  writing  letters,  and  preparing  some 
business  to  be  left 

In  the  morning  he  rang  for  a  servant  to  bring  breakfast 
to  his  room,  for  he  had  determined  not  to  see  his  wife 
until  the  moment  he  were  ready  to  start,  if  she  did  not 
retract  what  she  had  said.  About  ten  o'clock  he  sent  to 


340  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

her  room  to  know  if  she  was  ready  to  give  him  her  final 
decision  ;  and  soon  proceeded  to  her  chamber,  where  the 
children  were  both  with  her. 

Mr.  Clinton  was  excessively  pale,  and  was  obliged  to 
control  his  feelings  to  appear  with  any  degree  of  com- 
posure. 

Mrs.  Clinton  was  dressing  as  he  entered,  and  with  her 
face  averted  went  on  in  the  making  of  her  toilet 

Suppressing  his  indignation  at  her  indifference,  he 
asked  :  "  Have  you  anything  to  say  to  me,  Josephine  ?  " 

Taking  a  rich  bracelet  from  the  drawer,  she  proceeded 
to  clasp  it  around  her  arm,  as  she  answered :  "  Nothing 
different  from  what  I  have  already  said." 

Covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  Mr.  Clinton  wept 
aloud,  and  Josephine,  whose  pride  was  fast  giving  way 
needed  little  more  to  make  her  yield,  when  he  suddenly 
started,  and  catching  his  children  in  his  arms  darted  from 
the  room.  The  door  opened  again,  and,  with  a  coun- 
tenance of  such  suffering  as  she  had  never  witnessed,  he 
said :  "  Farewell,  I  do  not  upbraid  you.  Your  own  con- 
science will  do  that  when  I  am  gone;"  and  pausing 
only  a  moment  for  one  last  embrace  of  his  son  and 
daughter,  bidding  them  remember  their  father,  he  rushed 
from  the  house. 

As  soon  as  his  wife  heard  the  hall  door  shut,  and  real- 
ized that  it  was  no  vain  threat,  but  that  he  had  really  left 
her,  she  flew  like  a  distracted  creature  to  the  window, 
and  shrieked  after  him  to  come  back ;  but  he  was  al- 
ready beyond  the  sound  of  her  voice. 

The  servants  soon  learned  from  her  what  she  feared, 
and  assured  her  that  if  he  were  really  intending  to  leave 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  341 

the  country,  he  must  return  or  send  for  his  baggage ;  and 
with  this  poor  comfort  the  distressed  wife  was  qbliged  to 
content  herself.  But  the  day  passed,  and  no  messenger 
appeared  ;  and  at  last  one  of  the  servants  informed  her 
that  all  his  baggage  had  been  carried  from  the  house 
the  previous  day. 

The  now  conscience-stricken  wife  \vas  perfectly  wild 
with  grief,  which  was  not  lessened  by  the  appearance  of 
her  father  with  an  open  letter  in  his  hand  which  he  had 
just  received  from  his  son-in-law. 

"  What  have  you  done,  Josephine  ?  "  he  asked  sternly, 
—  his  face  flushed  with  indignation. 

She  burst  into  tears. 

"  Read  this,"  he  continued,  putting  the  letter  into  her 
hand.  "  It  is  now  too  late  for  tears." 

"  My  Dear  Father,  — 

"  It  is  with  great  pain  that  I  am  compelled  to  inform 
you  that  a  separation  has  taken  place  between  your 
daughter  and  myself.  I  leave  the  country  in  an  hour. 
Josephine  is  firm  in  thinking  it  better  for  me  to  go.  Do 
not  blame  her,  but  rather  cherish  and  comfort  her ;  for  I 
have  no  doubt,  when  it  is  too  late,  she  will  keenly  regret 
the  decision  which  has  exiled  me  from  home.  I  freely 
acknowledge  that  I  have  been  greatly  in  fault,  and  that 
I  ought  to  have  exhibited  more  tenderness  for  her  and 
more  affection  for  my  children.  My  heart  fondly  yearns 
for  them ;  would  that  I  could  enfold  them  once  more  in 
my  arms  for  a  parting  embrace. 

"  Your  afflicted  Son, 

«  RUSSEL  CLINTON." 
29* 


842  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

"  P.  S.  If  I  should  live  to  reach  India,  you  will  hear 
from  me." 

The  letter  fell  from  Josephine's  hand,  and  she  sank  to 
the  floor  in  a  death-like  swoon.  For  several  hours  the 
physician  who  had  been  summoned  by  her  father  stood 
leaning  over  her,  applying  every  remedy  in  his  power ; 
and,  at  length  with  a  low  gasp,  she  feebly  opened  her 
eyes. 

It  was  several  days  before  she  was  able  to  be  removed 
out  of  town,  when  she  had  abundant  evidence  of  the 
care  her  husband  had  taken  for  her  in  the  midst  of  the 
preparations  for  his  own  departure.  She  manifested  no 
interest  in  what  was  passing  around  her,  and  had  not  her 
friends  acted  for  her,  much  personal  property  would  have 
been  sacrificed.  Her  father  informed  her  that  the  credi- 
tors desired  her  to  reserve  for  herself  any  articles  she 
might  wish,  before  the  furniture  was  sold.  Her  jewels 
and  wardrobe,  of  course,  she  still  retained.  Aunt  Sarah 
proved  herself  very  efficient  on  this  occasion,  and  with 
the  assistance  of  the  servants,  in  a  few  hours  removed 
to  Oakland  all  she  cared  to  take  from  the  house. 

The  nurse  who  had  been  with  Mrs.  Clinton  for  four 
years,  was  persuaded  to  accompany  her ;  and  now  all 
was  done,  and  she  had  only  to  think  of  what  had 
passed. 

A  few  months  subsequent  to  the  settlement  of 
Mr.  Wells  in  New  York,  a  gentleman  was  one  morn- 
ing shown  into  his  study  in  whom  he  recognized  his 
most  respected  parishioner,  Mr.  James  Wallace.  At 
this  time,  however,  he  appeared  in  deep  affliction,  and 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  343 

informed  his  pastor  that  he  had  called  to  request  him  to 
attend  the  funeral  of  his  niece  at  Oakland. 

Upon  inquiring  the  particulars  of  her  death,  the  pastor 
ascertained  that  the  child  was  daughter  to  Mrs.  Clinton 
who  resided  with  him,  and  that  it  had  died  suddenly  of 
brain  fever.  The  father  was  supposed  to  be  in  India, 
and  the  mother  was  overpowered  by  her  multiplied  af- 
flictions. As  the  former  residence  of  Mrs.  Clinton  was 
in  the  same  block  as  their  own,  Mr.  Wells  remembered 
the  circumstances  rumor  had  connected  with  his  sudden 
departure.  He  readily  promised  to  be  at  Oakland  at  the 
time  specified. 

It  would  have  been  impossible  to  recognize  in  the 
heart-broken  mother  weeping  over  the  body  of  her  de- 
ceased child,  the  proud  woman  whose  haughty  spirit  had 
refused  to  confess  her  faults,  even  though  such  refusal 
would  separate  her  from  her  husband  forever.  Mr.  Wells 
was  deeply  affected  at  the  sight  of  her  grief,  but  his  en- 
deavors to  soothe  her  were  in  vain.  It  was  not  until  his 
third  visit  at  the  house  of  mourning,  that  Mrs.  Clinton 
would  listen  to  the  voice  of  prayer.  "  I  have  deserved 
this  affliction  ;  I  have  brought  it  upon  myself.  God  in- 
tends this  as  a  righteous  judgment  upon  me,"  were  words 
which  continually  fell  from  her  lips. 

Mr.  Wells  endeavored  to  convince  her  that  God  had 
sent  the  affliction  also  in  mercy,  to  bring  her  to  himself ; 
but  for  a  long  time  she  could  not  realize  the  truth  of  this 
blessed  doctrine.  The  devoted  pastor  continued  to  visit 
her,  and  begged  leave  to  carry  his  wife  with  him,  and  at 
length  had  the  unspeakable  satisfaction  of  feeling  that 
out  of  death  had  sprung  eternal  life  in  the  soul  of  his 
afflicted  friend. 


344  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

Mrs.  Hammond's  nephew  Mr.  William  Whitney  lived 
scarcely  half  a  mile  from  Oakland,  and  between  his  wife, 
who  was  a  lovely  Christian,  and  Mrs.  Clinton,  there 
gradually  grew  up  an  intimacy  which  resulted  in  the 
rapid  growth  of  the  Christian  graces,  in  the  heart  of  the 
latter. 

The  year  following  the  marriage  and  settlement  of 
Rev.  Mr.  Wells,  the  family  were  made  very  happy  by  the 
arrival  of  a  little  stranger  among  them.  But  their  happi- 
ness was  of  short  duration,  for  at  the  end  of  three  weeks 
of  suffering,  it  closed  its  eyes  forever  upon  this  world  of 
sin,  and  rose  to  join  the  blessed  throng  of  infants  before 
the  throne,  who  have  been  redeemed  by  the  blood  of  the 
Lamb. 

To  the  good  clergyman  and  his  wife  this  was  an  ex- 
ceedingly afflictive  event.  But  they  knew  whose  hand 
held  the  chastening  rod,  and  they  endeavored  to  bow 
submissively  to  his  holy  will,  fully  believing  that  though 
they  knew  not  now,  why  this  was  best  for  them,  they 
should  know  hereafter. 

It  was  more  difficult  to  reconcile  Frederic  who  was 
now  six  years  of  age,  to  the  loss  of  his  baby  brother. 
The  generous  boy  had  already  made  over  to  him  all  right 
and  title  to  his  rocking-horse,  wagon  and  sled,  reserving 
only  the  privilege  to  use  them  sometimes  when  brother 
did  not  want  them.  When  at  the  end  of  three  short 
weeks,  so  full  of  plans  for  the  amusement  of  his  darling, 
he  was  called  one  morning  to  his  mother's  room,  and  led 
to  the  crib  where  lay  the  lifeless  body  of  the  sweet  cherub, 
his  grief  was  so  violent  that  his  father  was  obliged  to 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  345 

take  him  from  the  room.  Helen  and  Fanny  stood  with 
tearful  eyes  and  quivering  lips,  and  gazed  upon  the  fair 
white  brow,  so  peaceful  in  its  marble  coldness,  and  Fan- 
ny asked,  "  Mamma  won't  he  be  our  brother  again  when 
we  go  to  heaven  ?  " 

Mrs.  Wells  wept  as  she  endeavored  to  impress  upon 
their  minds  the  importance  of  being  prepared  to  meet 
their  dear  brother  in  a  world  where  parting  is  unknown. 
Though  she  endeavored  to  be  cheerful,  yet  the  death  of 
her  babe  operated  so  unfavorably  upon  her  health,  that 
during  the  winter  which  followed,  she  was  scarcely  able 
to  leave  the  house.  For  the  sake  of  her  husband  and 
children,  she  struggled  against  her  sorrow ;  but  there  was 
a  dimness  in  her  eye,  and  a  languor  in  her  step,  which 
showed  that  her  thoughts  were  elsewhere.  If  anything 
could  have  served  to  strengthen  the  bond  between  her 
and  her  husband,  this  affliction  did  so.  Mrs.  Wells  was 
ever  on  the  watch  to  avert  any  sudden  allusions  to  the 
afflictive  subject  which  nevertheless  was  ever  in  their 
thoughts,  and  by  his  soothing  remarks  to  direct  her  mind 
to  the  blessedness  they  enjoyed  of  having  their  little  one 
in  the  immediate  presence  of  his  Saviour.  For  many 
months  she  was  subjected  to  a  return  of  her  old  com- 
plaint, the  nervous  headache,  and  at  such  times  nothing 
could  exceed  the  tenderness  of  her  husband.  His  step 
was  as  light  and  his  hand  as  gentle  as  a  woman's  in  ad- 
ministering to  her,  and  often  when  all  other  remedies 
failed,  he  took  her  throbbing  head  between  his  hands  and 
held  it  firmly  until  she  fell  asleep. 

During  the  sickness  of  her  mistress,  Nora  who  was 
now  released  from  the  nursery,  was  elevated  to  the  posi- 


346  THE    FIRST    AND    THE     SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

tion  of  house-keeper,  and  under  the  direction  of  Mrs. 
Hammond,  she  well  fulfilled  the  trust  reposed  in  her. 

In  June  the  whole  family  removed  for. the  summer  to 

C ,  the  society  having  generously  volunteered  to 

supply  the  pulpit  until  October.  Their  time  was  divided 
between  the  two  families, -and  in  the  bracing  air  of  her 
native  place,  together  with  frequent  bathing  in  the  sea 
which  was  only  four  miles  distant,  the  invalid  was  fully 
restored. 

The  sea-bathing  also  proved  very  beneficial  to  her  hus- 
band and  children,  and  altogether  the  summer  passed  de- 
lightfully. For  the  first  time  since  she  left  B ,  Mrs. 

Wells,  in  company  with  her  husband,  made  calls  upon 
her  old  people.  She  found  them  as  enthusiastic  as  ever 
in  their  love  for  their  deceased  pastor,  and  though  at  first 
some  of  them  were  rather  reserved  in  expressing  their 
sentiments  of  affection  for  her  first  husband  in  the  pre- 
sence of  her  second,  yet  they  soon  found  by  the  freedom 
with  which  she  spoke  of  him,  and  the  heartiness  with 
which  her  husband  joined  in  her  remarks,  that  it  was  not 
a  subject  which  was  interdicted  between  them. 

The  New  Year  following  the  absence  of  Mr.  Wells 
from  his  people,  was  improved  by  the  church  and  con- 
gregation, connected  with  the  —  —  Street  Church,  by 
a  visit  to  their  pastor,  in  which  they  presented  him  with 
many  valuable  tokens  of  their  affection  for  him,  and  their 
appreciation  of  his  labors. 

Mrs.  Thomas  Warren  was  called  early  the  following 
spring  to  the  bed-side  of  her  aunt,  who  had  lingered 
much  beyond  their  anticipations,  but  who  was  now  fast 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  347 

approaching  her  latter  end.  The  mind  of  Mrs.  Norton 
was  calm,  and  filled  with  glorious  anticipations  of  the 
rest,  provided  for  the  people  of  God.  Laura  remained 
with  her  until  the  closing  scene,  which  did  not  occur  un- 
til she  had  been  in  Charleston  nearly  three  weeks.  Im- 
mediately after  the  funeral  solemnities,  she,  in  company 
with  her  husband  and  her  uncle  Russel,  departed  for  the 
North,  as  the  young  mother  was  anxious  to  embrace  her 
dear  little  Mary,  now  nearly  two  years  old,  and  from 
whom  she  had  never  before  been  separated. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

THE  RE-UNION. 

IN  the  grounds  belonging  to  the  tasteful  residence  of 
Mr.  William  Whitney,  was  a  pleasant  pond,  which 
being  walled  around,  presented  a  very  pleasing  view 
from  the  back  windows.  On  one  side  was  a  miniature 
boat-house,  containing  a  tiny  canoe,  kept  for  the  accom- 
modation of  those  who  wished  to  fish. 

This  pond  was  constantly  replenished  by  a  spring,  the 
overflowing  waters  passing  off  in  a  deep  gurgling  brook, 
which  ran  along,  sometimes  widening  and  sometimes 
through  a  narrow  channel,  which  one  might  easily  pass 
over,  until  it  reached  the  grounds  back  of  Oakland,  where 
it  formed  the  dividing  line,  between  the  estate  of  Mrs. 
Clinton  and  that  of  her  neighbor. 

Upon  the  bank  of  this  pond,  under  the  shade  of  a  large 
elm,  was  the  grave  of  little  Emma,  and  here  during  all 
the  pleasant  seasons  of  summer  and  autumn.  Mrs.  Clin- 
ton with  her  only  child  passed  many  hours  of  every  day. 
Uncle  James  had  placed  a  circular  seat  around  the  trunk 
of  the  venerable  tree,  and  here  Mrs.  Clinton  brought  her 
work  and  books,  and  here  also  Albert  conveyed  his  toys. 
In  the  warm  weather  when  the  water  was  low,  his 
mother  sometimes  allowed  him  to  bathe  his  feet,  or 
launch  his  miniature  vessels  in  the  cool  brook ;  but  this 
was  only  when  she  was  near,  for  the  bottom  of  the  brook 

(348) 


THE    COUR1ESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  349 

was  rough  and  stony,  and  at  certain  seasons  after  a  heavy 
rain,  the  waters  were  so  much  swollen  as  to  render  it  un- 
safe for  a  child  to  approach  its  steep  banks. 

To  Albert  there  was  nothing  of  gloom  about  this  spot, 
for  with  it  was  associated  many  delightful  conversations 
with  his  mother,  not  only  of  the  lovely  sister  who  was 
resting  there  so  peacefully,  but  of  his  long  absent  father. 
The  few  days  which  he  passed  in  the  society  of  his  father 
before  he  left  home,  had  made  an  indelible  impression 
upon  his  mind.  Every  word  of  love,  every  token  of  af- 
fection, however  slight,  had  been  repeated  almost  daily. 
Probably,  if  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  receiving  them 
all  his  life,  the  recollection  would  not  have  been  as  vivid. 
But  those  days  when  he  learned  the  depth  of  a  father's 
love  were  a  distinct  era  in  his  young  life. 

His  mother  had  been  his  sole  instructor,  and  by  her 
careful  teachings  he  was  far  in  advance  of  his  years. 
Geography  was  his  favorite  study,  for  he  loved  to  trace 
upon  the  globe  in  uncle  James's  library  the  path  his 
father  travelled  in  going  to  India,  and  the  route  he  would 
take  to  come  home ;  for,  long  after  hope  had  died  out  in 
the  heart  of  his  mother,  the  boy  insisted  that  he  would 
return. 

"  As  soon  as  T  am  a  man,"  he  said  one  day,  "  I  shall 
take  a  vessel  and  go  round  the  world  until  I  can  find  my 
father.  Who  knows  but  he  is  just  like  Robinson  Cru- 
soe living  alone  on  an  island,  because  no  vessel  has  been 
to  take  him  away  ?  " 

A  sharp  pang  seized  the  heart  of  the  mother  as  she 
listened  to  his  artless  appeals,  wholly  unconscious  of  the 
pain  they  caused  her. 

30 


350  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

Albert  was  now  nine  years  of  age,  and  Mr.  Clint  «) 
had  been  absent  nearly  six,  during  which  time  no  intel- 
ligence had  been  received  from  him. 

In  the  second  year  after  his  departure,  letters  had  been 
received  by  Mr.  Talbot  from  Calcutta,  reporting  favora- 
bly of  the  business  there,  and  from  time  to  time  the 
creditors  had  received  large  payments  upon  their  former 
demands  against  the  firm.  After  waiting  a  sufficient 
time  for  news  which  was  expected  by  the  way  of  Liver- 
pool, Mr.  Talbot  wrote  to  his  son-in-law,  urging  him  to 
hasten  his  business  and  return.  Mrs.  Clinton  also  wrote 
an  account  of  the  death  of  their  child.  These  letters  he 
enclosed  to  the  address  of  their  agent,  with  a  request  to 
forward  them  to  Mr.  Clinton.  The  returning  vessel 
brought  an  answer  from  the  agent  that  no  such  person 
had  reached  Calcutta.  That  he  had  made  inquiries  of 
ship  masters ;  but  no  one  had  brought  out  a  passenger 
by  that  name.  Still,  Mrs.  Clinton  did  not  wholly  de- 
spair. She  remembered  the  words  of  her  husband,  that 
he  would  not  condemn  the  children  to  the  wandering  life 
he  should  be  obliged  to  lead;  but  as  year  after  year 
passed  away,  hope  grew  fainter  and  fainter,  until  scarcely 
a  spark  remained.  Sometimes,  as  Frederic  indulged  his 
childish  prattle  about  what  might  have  occurred  to  pre- 
vent the  return  he  so  much  wished,  her  courage  revived 
for  a  moment,  but  only  to  plunge  her  in  deeper  gloom. 
Through  the  day  she  was  generally  calm,  though  her  face 
had  assumed  a  pensive  expression,  very  different  from 
the  brilliant  beauty  she  possessed,  when  first  introduced 
to  the  reader.  But  during  the  night  her  couch  was  often 
a  sleepless  one  and  her  pillow  wet  with  tears  of  bitter 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  351 

repentance.  In  the  education  of  her  child,  she  avoided 
everything  which  would  lead  to  the  indulgence  of  a 
querulous  or  impatient  temper,  such  as  had  embittered 
her  whole  life. 

Perhaps  her  character  at  this  time  cannot  be  better  de- 
scribed than  by  giving  an  extract  from  the  diary  of  Mrs. 
Wells:  — 

"  Yesterday  I  passed  a  delightful  day  with  Mrs.  Clin- 
ton, in  her  charming  retreat  at  Oakland.  I  was  unwil- 
ling to  tax  her  kindness  by  taking  the  older  children  ; 
but  Mr.  Wallace  insisted  that  she  wished  to  see  them  all. 
The  carriage  came  for  us  soon  after  nine  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  so  that  we  might  reach  there  before  the  heat 
became  intense ;  and  we,  six  in  number,  started.  Mr. 
Wells  being  unable  to  leave  his  study  until  afternoon. 

"  My  little  Laura  enjoyed  the  ride  much,  and,  after  her 
nap,  was  kept  out  by  Nora  most  of  the  day. 

"  Mrs.  Clinton  received  us  very  cordially,  and  after  we 
were  rested  conducted  us  to  the  arbor  in  the  garden  near 
the  grave  of  little  Emma,  where  we  had  a  delicious 
lunch.  She  remarked  that  it  might  seem  strange  to  us 
that  she  chose  this  spot ;  but  that  it  had  become  to  her 
the  most  delightful  in  the  world.  I  saw  she  wished  to 
say  more,  but  as  the  whole  family  were  present,  she  re- 
strained herself.  Yet,  after  the  young  group  under  the 
direction  of  Master  Albert  had  dispersed  about  the 
grounds,  she  continued  :  '  When  at  times  I  am  borne 
to  the  earth  with  sorrow,  I  come  here  and  fix  my 
thoughts  upon  the  world  of  purity  and  love  where  my 
dear  child  has  gone,  and  endeavor  to  claim  the  promise 


352  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

of  my  Saviour,  he  that  cometh  to  me  I  will  in  no  wise 
cast  out.  Sometimes,  I  can  by  faith  lay  hold  of  the 
precious  hopes  of  the  gospel,  but  there  are  seasons  when 
I  think  my  sins  have  been  so  aggravated  that  there  can 
be  no  mercy  for  me.' 

"  I  was  deeply  affected  at  the  tone  in  which  she  spoke, 
and  my  eyes  bore  witness  to  my  deep  interest  as  I  en- 
deavored to  assure  her  that  Jesus  knew  all  our  grief,  and 
sympathized  with  us ;  that  if  she  would  cast  her  care 
upon  him,  he  would  support  her.  Of  course,  I  could 
speak  only  in  general  terms,  as  she  had  never  alluded  to 
her  own  particular  trials.  But  now  her  heart  was  ap- 
parently moved  by  my  tears,  and  she  exclaimed,  '  Oh, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Wells,  you  can  never  know  the  bitterness 
of  my  sorrow !  You  have  lost  a  husband ;  and  as  I 
have  often  heard,  a  tender,  loving  one ;  but  he  died  in 
your  presence  after  blessing  you  and  bidding  you  fare- 
well. I,  too,  had  a  husband,  whose  noble  heart  would 
have  been  devoted  to  his  family,  who  was  capable  by  his 
ardent  affections  of  rendering  home  happy ;  but  I  drove 
him  from  me,  I  drove  him  into  sin,  which  he  abhorred, 
and  then  heaped  reproaches  upon  him,  such  as  no  hon- 
orable man  could  endure.  If  he  had  ever  in  one  instance 
returned  my  unkindness,  I  could  have  something  with 
which  to  vindicate  the  course  I  pursued ;  but  on  the 
contrary,  his  life  was  one  succession  of  efforts  to  win  me 
from  the  selfishness  and  disregard  of  all  but  my  own 
happiness,  which  was  my  only  aim  in  life,  and  to  assist 
me  in  the  performance  of  my  duties  as  a  wife  and 
mother.  Even  to  the  last,  when,  in  consequence  of  my 
abuse,  he  was  driven  from  his  country,  he  did  not  up- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  353 

braid  me.     He  said,  truly,  your  conscience  will  do  that 
when  I  am  gone  ! 

"  Oh,  that  I  had  only  confessed  my  sin  against  him, 
and  received  forgiveness !  For  years,  the  hope  of  doing 
this  sustained  me.  Soon  after  the  death  of  my  child,  I 
wrote  him  that  God  had  visited  me  in  judgment,  on  ac- 
count of  my  treatment  of  him,  and  I  humbly  begged  him 
to  forgive  my  long  catalogue  of  offences.  I  dared  not  ask 
him  to  return  to  me.  I  knew  I  had  no  right  to  expect 
that ;  but  for  a  long  time  I  hoped  he  would  answer,  and 
with  one  word  assure  me  that  I  was  forgiven.  But  the 
suspense  is  dreadful.  I  think  I  could  be  thankful  to  hear 
that  he  was  dead,  if  I  could  be  assured  that  he  died  a 
Christian,  rather  than  live  such  a  life  of  agonizing 
suspense. 

"  My  child,  and  even  my  kind  uncle  and  aunt,  know 
little  of  the  grief  which  is  shortening  my  days,  for  when 
with  them  I  strive  to  appear  cheerful  and  even  resigned 
to  the  sorrow  which  my  own  sinfulness  has  brought 
upon  me ;  but  in  the  silent  watches  of  the  night,  when 
no  eye  but  that  which  never  sleeps  is  resting  upon  me,  I 
mourn  in  bitterness  of  spirit  over  my  past  life,  and  be- 
seech my  Father,  who  is  in  heaven,  to  forgive  me.  But 
my  happiest  hours  are  passed  in  prayer  for  the  lonely 
wanderer,  if  he  be  indeed  a  subject  of  prayer  ;  and  there 
are  moments  when  I  believe  that  my  earnest  desires  for 
him  will  be  granted." 

As  she  said  this,  a  faint  flush  beautified  her  colorless 
cheek,  and  her  eyes  were  raised  to  heaven  in  a  glance  of 
sincere  gratitude  and  fervent  devotion. 
30* 


354  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

It  was  a  warm  and  pleasant  day  in  October.  For 
nearly  a  week  there  had  been  incessant  rain,  and  neither 
Mrs.  Clinton  nor  her  son  had  been  able  to  visit  their 
favorite  retreat  under  the  elm  tree. 

The  morning  lessons  of  Albert  were  concluded,  and 
he  stood  before  his  mother,  with  his  cap  in  his  hand, 
begging  her  to  take  her  work  and  accompany  him  to  the 
arbor.  She  was  still  undecided  on  account  of  the  fear 
of  dampness  in  the  ground,  when  her  uncle  James  pre- 
sented himself  from  the  garden  and  assured  her  that  the 
sun  had  dried  the  walks,  and  that  the  clear,  bracing  air 
would  do  her  good. 

Mrs.  Clinton  smilingly  collected  her  work,  and  taking 
from  the  rack  in  the  hall  a  large  hat  and  shawl,  she  was 
soon  seated  in  the  pleasant  shade,  uncle  James  having 
thoughtfully  placed  a  cricket  under  her  feet.  The  sound 
of  the  brook  dashing  along  as  if  impatient  to  reach  its 
destination,  attracted  the  attention  of  the  boy,  and  taking 
his  uncle's  hand  he  led  him  toward  it.  The  waters  were 
much  swollen  and  had  overflown  their  banks,  forcing  for 
themselves  channels  aside  from  their  natural  ones. 
Albert  was  delighted  at  the  miniature  rivers,  as  he  called 
the  little  streams,  and  ran  eagerly  to  his  mother  to  ask 
permission  to  sail  his  new  boat  in  one  of  them.  After 
being  assured  by  her  uncle  that  there  could  be  no  danger, 
Mrs.  Clinton  gave  her  consent,  and  taking  a  book  from 
her  basket  was  soon  wholly  absorbed  in  its  contents. 
She  was  suddenly  startled  by  a  loud  scream  from  Albert, 
who  was  calling  her  name.  She  flew  toward  the  house, 
as  he  was  nowhere  in  sight,  when  another  and  another 
shriek  quickly  followed ;  and,  this  time  it  seemed  to 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF   WEDDED    LIFE.  355 

come  from  behind  her.  With  a  sudden  thought  of  the 
deep  water,  the  distracted  mother  fled  down  the  walk, 
and  soon  reached  the  brook.  Here  all  was  still,  and  with 
trembling  limbs  she  was  turning  to  leave  the  spot,  when 
two  small  hands  rose  to  the  surface  of  the  water,  and  a 
faint  call  of  "  mother,"  almost  turned  her  heart  to  stone. 
Without  one  thought  of  her  own  danger,  for  the  water 
was  very  deep,  she  prepared  to  jump  into  the  rapid  cur- 
rent, when  a  strong  arm  held  her  back,  and  in  one  mo- 
ment a  stranger  laid  the  nearly  insensible  boy  at  her  feet 
With  a  countenance  pale  as  death,  Mrs.  Clinton  caught 
his  limpid  form  to  her  heart,  as  she  murmured,  "  oh,  my 
blessed  boy !  My  God,  accept  a  mother's  thanks  for  the 
life  of  her  only  child!" 

"  He  is  still  in  danger,"  said  the  gentleman,  seeing  that 
the  boy  did  not  arouse  himself.  "  Measures  must  in- 
stantly be  taken  to  resuscitate  him.  Tell  me  where  to 
carry  him,  and  I  will  go  instantly." 

For  one  instant  the  mother's  heart  bounded  wildly,  as 
she  gazed  at  the  stranger  of  whose  presence  until  he 
spoke,  she  had  been  wholly  unmindful,  and  then  speak- 
ing with  difficulty,  she  said,  "  Oh,  sir,  let  us  proceed  at 
once  to  the  house ! "  And  she  pointed  to  the  cottage, 
which  could  just  be  seen  among  the  trees.  The  gentle- 
man took  the  child  from  her  arms,  and  conveyed  him 
tenderly  to  his  chamber,  Mrs.  Clinton  running  on  before 
to  send  for  a  physician. 

Having  placed  him  in  bed,  the  stranger  asked  how 
soon  the  Doctor  would  probably  arrive,  and  hearing  that 
they  were  obliged  to  send  to  the  city,  immediately  order- 
ed a  warm  bath,  saying  in  an  apologizing  tone  to  Mr. 


356  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

"Wallace,  "  I  am  something  of  a  doctor,  and  in  the  pre- 
sent case,  it  will  not  do  to  defer  some  measures  for  his 
relief."  All  the  time  he  had  been  speaking,  he  occupied 
himself  in  gently  unloosing  the  boy's  clothes,  and  com- 
menced a  vigorous  rubbing  of  the  limpicl  figure,  while 
the  mother  tearfully  called  him  by  name. 

Before  the  bath  was  prepared,  Albert  feebly  opened  his 
eyes,  and  faintly  smiled. 

"  Oh,  my  precious,  darling  boy !"  exclaimed  his  mother 
lifting  his  head  from  the  pillow,  and  laying  it  upon  her 
breast,  when  her  over-excited  feelings  found  relief  in  a 
natural  burst  of  tears. 

It  was  not  until  the  boy  was  placed  in  the  bath,  and 
was  able  to  answer  questions,  that  Mr.  Wallace  noticed 
that  the  stranger's  clothes  were  still  dripping.  "  I  fear,  sir, 
that  you  are  exposing  yourself,"  he  said  quickly,  while  he 
rang  the  bell. 

There  was  a  slight  tone  of  bitterness  in  the  stranger's 
voice,  as  he  replied,  "  for  three  days  and  nights  I  have 
lain  in  the  water  lashed  to  the  fragments  of  a  vessel,  and 
I  hardly  think  a  slight  wetting  on  such  a  day  as  this  can 
harm  me." 

"  Notwithstanding,"  replied  Mr.  Wallace  with  a  smile, 
as  the  servant  appeared,  "  I  shall  do  all  in  my  power  to 
prevent  it,  and  if  you  will  follow  Hannah  to  a  chamber, 
you  will  find  a  dry  suit  of  clothes  at  your  service." 

Mrs.  Clinton  was  kneeling  by  the  side  of  the  bathing 
tub,  and  when  the  gentleman  spoke,  she  trembled  in 
every  limb.  She  fixed  her  piercing  eyes  on  his  face  as  if 
she  would  read  his  very  soul ;  but  after  one  glance  he 
turned  from  her,  and  soon  left  the  room. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  357 

Forgetful  even  of  her  restored  treasure,  the  poor 
woman  sprang  to  the  door  as  if  to  recall  him,  but  he  was 
already  out  of  sight,  and  she  sank  into  a  chair  pale  and 
agitated.  When  Mr.  Wallace  returned  from  his  atten- 
tions to  his  guest,  he  found  nis  niece  with  her  hands 
clasped  to  her  breast,  and  her  eyes  fixed  immovably  upon 
the  door. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  oh,  don't  let  him  leave ! "  she  gasped 
out. 

"  Mamma  won't  answer  me,"  cried  the  restored  child, 
speaking  to  his  uncle,  "  and  she  looks  so  strange." 

Mr.  Wallace  turned  from  one  to  the  other,  but  was 
entirely  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  cause  of  the  agitation 
he  witnessed.  "  He  will  soon  be  down  to  attend  to  his 
little  patient,"  he  answered,  supposing  at  length  it  must 
be  the  fear  of  having  the  gentleman  leave  before  the  boy 
was  fully  restored. 

Making  a  great  effort  to  control  herself,  she  arose  and 
assisted  the  nurse,  who  was  taking  him  out  of  the  bath, 
and  the  little  fellow  was  soon  lying  comfortably  in  bed, 
wrapped  in  blankets,  and  wondering  that  his  mother  did 
not  come  to  caress  him. 

But  her  heart  was  full,  almost  to  bursting,  not  with 
the  danger  which  her  only  child  had  so  narrowly  escaped ; 
no,  her  thoughts  were  not  of  him ;  but  of  one  who  was 
far  dearer  than  her  only  son,  or  even  the  memory  of  the 
lovely  bud,  broken  from  its  stem  and  mouldering  to  dust. 
Something  in  the  voice  of  the  stranger  had  caused  her 
poor  desolate  heart  to  throb  so  painfully  that  she  could 
hardly  breathe,  and  though  she  had  failed  to  recognize 
one  feature  of  her  husband  in  the  white-haired  man, 


358  THE    FIWST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

whose  heavy  beard  so  thickly  covered  the  lower  part  of 
his  face ;  yet  the  thought  of  his  departure  could  not  be 
endured  for  a  moment.  She  left  the  room  to  find  her 
uncle,  who  had  just  been  to  the  stranger's  apartment. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  he,  as  she  met  him,  "  that  I  cannot 
prevail  upon  the  gentleman  to  remain,  and  pass  the 
night  with  us,  but  he  says  he  must  instantly  return  to  the 
city." 

"  He  must  not  leave,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Clinton  with 
something  of  her  former  decision  of  tone  and  manner. 

Mr.  Wallace  smiled  and  was  about  to  reply,  but  per- 
ceived that  their  guest  had  entered  the  room. 

Mrs.  Clinton  advanced  to  him,  and  taking  both  his 
hands,  tried  to  speak ;  but  the  words  died  away,  and  she 
fell  almost  fainting  into  his  arms. 

"  My  niece  is  much  overcome  by  the  excitement  she 
has  passed  through,"  said  Mr.  Wallace,  as  the  stranger 
laid  her  gently  upon  the  sofa.  "  She  is  not  able  to  bear 
such  a  fright.  I  do  not  at  all  wonder  she  is  unable  to 
thank  you  as  she  desires,"  and  the  good  man  really  start- 
ed, as  he  caught  the  expression  of  agony  in  her  counte- 
nance, fearing  lest  the  shock  had  dethroned  her  reason. 
The  stranger  seemed  also  agitated  by  the  same  thought, 
and  muttering  indistinctly  that  he  must  return  to  the 
city,  approached  the  lady  to  take  leave,  saying,  however, 
as  he  did  so,  that  he  would  call  on  the  morrow  and  in- 
quire for  his  little  friend. 

Mrs.  Clinton  started  up,  and  in  an  almost  inarticulate 
voice,  whispered,  "  oh,  do  not  fail  to  return ! " 

The  conduct  of  his  niece  was  so  unaccountable,  that 
Mr.  Wallace  thought  it  necessary  to  apologize  for  her  as 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  359 

he  followed  his  guest  to  the  hall,  by  saying,  "  Mrs.  Clin- 
ton is  in  a  declining  state  of  health,  and  seems  quite  un- 
nerved by  the  scenes  of  the  afternoon.  I  trust  to-mor- 
row she  will  be  better  able  to  render  her  thanks  for  the 
service  you  have  been  to  us." 

"  I  want  no  thanks.  I  deserve  none,"  murmured  the 
stranger.  "  I  was  passing  the  street  and  was  attracted 
to  the  spot  by  the  scream  of  the  child,  which  it  would 
have  been  less  than  human  to  hear  unmoved,"  and  with 
a  warm  pressure  of  Mr.  Wallace's  hand,  he  hastily  left 
the  house. 

"  How  very  thoughtless  of  me  not  to  ask  his  name," 
remarked  the  kind  man,  re-entering  the  room  where  his 
niece  still  sat  motionless  as  he  had  left  her. 

Mrs.  Clinton  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  while 
the  hot  tears  forced  their  way  through  her  fingers,  then 
with  a  sound  nearly  resembling  a  groan,  she  arose  and 
left  the  room.  After  ascertaining  that  Albert  was  busily 
occupied  in  talking  with  his  good  nurse,  she  hastened  to 
her  own  chamber,  and  having  fastened  the  door,  threw 
herself  upon  her  knees. 

"  Father  in  heaven,"  she  cried  in  agony,  "  sustain  me 
in  this  new  trial.  It  is,  it  must  be  he ;  but  he  has  cast 
me  off.  Yes,  as  I  did  him !  Oh,  I  never  thought  of 
this !  But  can  I  wonder  that  his  affections  are  wholly 
weaned  from  me.  Have  I  not  deserved  it?"  Bitter 
tears  poured  down  her  cheeks  like  water.  Then  doubts 
of  his  identity  with  her  husband,  suggested  themselves. 
But  they  were  instantly  banished ;  "  that  voice,"  she  cried, 
"  oh,  no  other  voice  could  move  me  thus !  and  he  will  be 
here  again  to-morrow ;  what  shall  I  «ay  ?  What  can  I 


360  THE    FIRST    AND    TriE    SECOND    MARRIAGES', 

say  to  him  ?  Will  he  believe  me  when  I  tell  him  for  six 
years  I  have  been  a  repentant  wife,  mourning  for  the  loss 
of  my  noble  husband  ?  " 

After  a  sleepless  night  to  Mrs.  Clinton,  the  morrow 
came ;  but  not  the  stranger.  For  three  successive  days 
she  waited  and  watched,  but  still  he  came  not.  Albert, 
now  fully  restored,  was  continually  running  from  the 
gate  to  the  house,  to  announce  to  his  mother  that  a  car- 
riage was  approaching,  but  alas !  they  always  passed  by 
without  stopping.  This  continual  suspense  so  wore 
upon  the  feeble  frame  of  the  poor  mother,  that  she  was 
obliged  to  keep  her  bed.  Every  sound  caused  her  heart 
to  palpitate  with  renewed  hope,  which  as  often  was 
;hanged  to  despondence.  Her  uncle,  though  entirely  ig- 
4orant  of  the  hopes  and  fears  which  alternated  in  quick 
succession  through  her  breast,  yet  participated  in  her 
anxiety  to  see  once  more  the  preserver  of  her  child. 
Without  imparting  his  intention  to  her,  he  rode  twice  to 
the  city,  and  called  at  the  principal  hotels,  but  could 
nowhere  hear  of  a  gentleman  answering  to  his  descrip- 
tion. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  fourth  day,  which  was  the 
Sabbath,  Mrs.  Clinton  descended  from  her  chamber,  and 
feebly  bent  her  steps  toward  the  grave  of  her  child.  It 
was  the  season  designated  as  the  Indian  summer,  and 
the  air  was  as  balmy  as  June.  The  sun  was  just  sink- 
ing to  rest,  and  the  whole  western  sky  was  lighted  up  to 
witness  the  departure  of  the  king  of  day.  The  bereaved 
mother  bent  over  the  grave,  and  tears  such  as  the  sight 
of  it  had  not  called  forth  for  many  a  year,  now  fell 
thickly  upon  the  green  sods  before  her.  How  often  had 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  361 

she  knelt  there  in  prayer  for  her  husband,  and  thought  if 
she  could  see  him  once  more,  how  earnestly  would  she 
seek  his  forgiveness.  Now  how  different  had  been  their 
meeting.  It  was  plain  he  intended  to  leave  her  forever. 

"  Mr.  Wallace  directed  me  here  to  find  you,"  said  a 
low  voice  at  her  side.  Mrs.  Clinton  sprang  to  her  feet, 
and  made  a  motion  as  if  she  would  have  thrown  herself 
into  his  arms,  but  he  gently  took  her  hand  and  led  her  to 
a  seat  under  the  tree,  where  he  seated  himself  by  her. 
Her  heart  beat  almost  to  suffocation  as  she  witnessed 
the  change  which  a  few  days  had  wrought  in  him. 

"  You  are  ill,"  she  said  suddenly. 

"  I  have  not  been  quite  well,"  he  answered  evasively, 
"  or  I  should  have  fulfilled  my  promise  to  my  little  friend. 
Indeed  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  left  my  chamber  since 
the  evening  I  was  last  here." 

"  Oh,  my  husband!  my  husband!!"  were  words  which 
struggled  for  utterance,  while  her  heart  yearned  over 
him,  but  there  was  a  dignity  in  his  manner  which  re- 
pelled her,  and  strange  to  say,  doubts  whether  he  were 
her  husband,  began  to  intrude  themselves  upon  her  mind. 
She  tried  to  calm  her  agitated  feelings,  and  pointing  to 
the  gorgeous  scene  before  them,  sought  to  divert  his  at- 
tention from  herself.  He  gazed  a  few  moments  in  silence, 
and  then  arose  as  if  to  depart. 

At  this  movement  her  pent  up  emotions  would  be  re- 
pressed no  longer,  and  with  a  cry  of  agony,  she  caught 
his  arm,  as  she  gasped,  "  oh,  you  will  not  leave  me 
again!" 

The  whole  frame  of  the  strong  man  shook  with  sup- 
pressed emotion,  as  he  resumed  his  seat  by  her  side. 
31 


362  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  *, 

"  Josephine,"  he  said,  in  a  husky  voice,  "  I  see  that  you 
have  recognized  me ;  you  are  the  first  who  has  pene- 
trated my  disguise,  and  he  took  from  his  head  the  silvery 
locks  which  had  served  so  effectually  to  screen  from  view 
his  own  curly  hair,  which  was  indeed  thickly  sprinkled 
with  gray.  You  must  once  more  pronounce  my  doom. 
"  Shall  I  again  embark  for  India,  and  pass  my  life  with 
wild  beasts  in  their  jungles,  or  shall  1  remain  with  you  ?  " 
The  last  words  were  spoken  so  hoarsely  that  it  was  only 
by  bending  toward  him  that  she  could  distinguish  them ; 
but  when  she  did  so,  she  fell  on  her  knees  at  his  feet,  ex- 
claiming, "  oh,  my  God,  I  thank  thee  for  this  hour!" 

Mr.  Clinton  raised  her  from  her  humble  position,  and 
strained  her  to  his  heart.  In  that  peaceful  retreat  close 
by  the  grave  of  their  little  one,  this  re-united  pair  poured 
forth  to  each  other,  the  confessions,  hopes  and  fears  which 
had  alike  agitated  them  during  their  long  separation. 
Tightly  clasped  in  the  arms  of  her  husband,  the  grateful, 
happy  wife  forgot  her  recent  illness,  or  the  lateness  of  the 
hour,  until  startled  by  the  voice  of  uncle  James  calling 
her  to  come  in.  The  good  man  could  hardly  believe  his 
sight,  when,  after  waiting  what  appeared  to  him  a  long 
time  for  his  niece  to  return  to  the  cottage  with  the 
stranger,  he  ventured  out  to  remind  her  that  the  dew  had 
begun  to  fall,  and  saw  her  head  lying  gently  on  his  breast 

"  Josephine,"  said  he,  rather  peremptorily,  "  you  forget 
yourself;  you  will  take  cold ;  the  dew  is  falling,  and  the 
air  is  chilly." 

"  Oh,  uncle  James,"  she  exclaimed,  joyfully,  "  do  you 
not  recognize  my  husband  ?  " 

The  good  man  wiped  his  eyes,  coughed  and  hemmed ; 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  363 

but  somehow  the  surprise  deprived  him  of  his  speech. 
Mr.  Clinton  cordially  grasped  his  hands,  and  tried  to  ex- 
press his  joy  at  the  meeting,  when  they  all  adjourned  to 
the  house  to  find  Albert. 

The  boy  could  hardly  control  himself  when  told  that 
the  kind  stranger  was  his  own  father,  though  he  could 
scarcely  reconcile  the  idea  of  a  white  haired  man  with 
the  recollection  of  a  broad  brow  and  black  curly  locks. 

Uncle  James  also  observed  that  his  eyes  must  have 
grown  very  dim,  for  he  should  never  have  imagined  that 
the  gray-headed  man  could  turn  out  to  be  the  husband 
of  his  dear  niece.  But  the  next  morning  when  Mr.  Clin- 
ton made  his  appearance  at  table  with  a  smooth  face, 
and  bereft  of  his  white  wig,  there  wras  a  start  of  joy- 
ful surprise,  which  was  many  times  repeated  by  different 
persons  through  the  day,  as  Mr.  Clinton  in  company 
with  his  wife,  returned  to  the  city  and  called  upon  his 
father-in-law  and  other  family  friends,  aunt  Sarah  Wal- 
lace among  the  number. 

Reverend  Mr.  Wells  and  his  lady  sympathized  most 
cordially  in  the  deep  joy  of  their  friend  in  the  return  of 
her  husband,  and  the  new  affection  which  appeared  to 
exist  between  them.  During  their  call  the  good  pastor 
introduced  subjects  calculated  to  test  the  character  of 
their  new  friend,  and  to  ascertain  whether  the  separation 
had  been  blessed  to  him  as  to  his  companion,  but  was 
grieved  to  see  that  they  were  skilfully  evaded,  until  he 
rose  as  if  to  depart,  when  taking  the  hand  of  his  wife,  he 
led  her  before  the  clergyman,  where  with  a  choking  voice 
he  said,  "  From  what  Mrs.  Clinton  has  related  to  me  of 
your  kindness  to  her  during  our  long  separation,  I  can- 


364  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  '. 

not  doubt  but  you  will  rejoice  to  re-unite  us  and  implore 
for  us  the  grace  of  God  in  our  new  union  ;  that  we  may 
cherish  and  support  one  another,  bear  patiently  with  each 
other's  faults,  and  do  all  in  our  power  to  promote  mu- 
tual joy  in  this  life,  and  to  fit  for  the  blessedness  of  the  life 
to  come." 

These  words  were  uttered  with  so  much  earnestness  and 
such  deep  emotion,  that  all  present  were  moved  to  tears. 
Mr.  Wells  with  moistened  eyes,  stepped  forward,  and 
holding  a  hand  of  each,  bestowed  upon  them  the  usual 
marriage  benediction,  when  all  joined  him  in  prayer,  that 
religion  might  refine  all  their  joys,  and  render  their  home 
a  paradise  of  conjugal  love. 

One  morning  early  in  December,  Mr.  Clinton  an- 
nounced to  uncle  James  that  he  intended  to  take  his 
wife  into  town  for  the  winter,  "  where,"  he  added,  "  we 
hope  you  will  accompany  us,  otherwise  we  could  hardly 
feel  it  right  to  claim  your  hospitality  another  summer." 

Mr.  Wallace  glanced  in  dismay  at  his  niece,  who  an- 
swered pleasantly,  "  this  is  the  first  intimation  I  have  had 
of  such  a  movement,  so  I  can  give  you  no  explanation." 

"  The  fact  is,"  resumed  Mr.  Clinton,  clearing  his  throat, 
"  I  am  intending  to  go  into  business  again  in  New  York, 
and  it  will  not  be  convenient  to  live  so  far  out  of  town 
during  the  cold  weather.  I  have  been  to  look  at  a  house, 
and  find  it  will  accommodate  us.  We  can  easily  carry 
in  Josephine's  furniture,  and  be  quite  comfortable  there 
for  a  few  months.  She  will  go  in  with  me  this  morning 
and  make  arrangements  to  be  settled  in  our  new  home 
by  Christmas." 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  365 

His  eyes  were  fastened  upon  his  plate,  or  he  would 
have  seen  that  his  wife  turned  exceedingly  pale,  and 
with  difficulty  restrained  her  tears.  The  few  weeks 
which  had  passed  since  his  return  home  had  been  so 
quiet  and  peaceful  that  the  thought  of  returning  to  the 
city,  and  having  her  husband  exposed  to  the  temptations 
of  his  former  life  was  dreadful  to  her.  To  be  sure  she 
knew  he  would  not  long  be  contented  to  be  dependent 
upon  her  uncle,  and  had  supposed  that  he  would  at  a 
future  time  seek  some  kind  of  business ;  but  for  this 
sudden  announcement  she  was  wholly  unprepared. 

Uncle  James  witnessed  the  quivering  of  her  lip,  and 
determined  to  speak  in  private  with  his  nephew,  and 
beg  of  him  to  do  nothing  rashly,  as  his  friends  would 
gladly  render  him  assistance.  This  he  did,  soon  after 
breakfast,  and  received  the  cordial  thanks  of  Mr.  Clin- 
ton, with  the  assurance  that  he  would  not  be  detained 
from  applying  to  so  generous  a  friend  if  he  was  in 
need. 

When  they  returned  to  the  breakfast-room  INIrs.  Clin- 
ton was  washing  the  cups,  and  taking  a  paper  from  the 
sideboard,  her  husband  sat  down  to  read,  but  she  started 
as  she  glanced  at  him  to  see  signs  of  agitation  upon  his 
countenance  which  he  was  evidently  making  a  great  effort 
to  conceal.  Two  or  three  times  she  met  a  glance  so  full 
of  meaning,  that  she  was  determined  to  seek  an  ex- 
planation as  soon  as  they  were  alone. 

At  length  he  laid  down  the  paper,  and  with  affected 
indifference  inquired,  "  How   soon,   Josy,  can    you   be 
ready  to  go  into  town  ?    Your  uncle  has  offered  me  the 
use  of  his  carriage,  and  Albert  may  go  with  us." 
31* 


366  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

Though  she  would  have  preferred  leaving  the  child  at 
home  that  she  might  converse  more  freely  with  him,  she 
answered  cheerfully,  "  If  you  are.  in  a  hurry  to  go  I  can 
be  ready  in  half  an  hour,  or  even  in  less  time." 

"  That  will  do,"  he  answered  abruptly  as  he  left  the 
room. 

On  reaching  the  city  Mr.  Clinton  remarked  :  "  I  have 
an  engagement  at  twelve,  and  therefore  we  must  not 
tarry  too  long.  There  are  two  or  three  houses  vacant,  in 
either  of  which  I  think  we  could  be  comfortable  for  a 
few  months.  He  drove  into  a  back  street,  and  at  length 
stopped  at  the  door  of  a  three-story  brick  house  of  re- 
spectable appearance.  Having  rung  at  the  next  door, 
procured  the  key,  and  assisted  her  from  the  carriage,  he 
said  hurriedly  :  "You  can  just  run  over  the  house,  and  I 
will  remain  near  the  door.  The  air  is  so  cold  in  those 
shut  up  rooms  I  dont  like  to  take  Albert  from  the 
carriage." 

Mrs.  Clinton  sighed  as  she  ran  up  and  down  stairs 
taking  a  cursory  survey  of  the  size  and  convenience  of 
the  apartments.  Not  a  ray  of  sun  ever  shone  into  the 
damp  rooms  which  were  closely  shut  in  by  the  higher 
buildings  with  which  the  house  was  surrounded;  but  she 
bravely  determined  to  make  the  best  of  the  choice  if  it 
met  with  her  husband's  approbation,  "  for  after  all,"  she 
whispered  to  herself,  "  what  are  the  inconveniences  of  a 
cold  house  compared  with  the  blessing  of  having  my 
husband  with  me  ?  " 

"  Well,  Josy,"  inquired  Mr.  Clinton,  anxiously,  "  how 
do  you  think  it  will  do  ?  Can  you  manage  to  be  happy 
here,  or  to  make  it  look  like  home  ?  " 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  367 

She  smiled  as  she  replied,  "  I  can  be  happy  anywhere 
with  you  and  our  dear  child." 

Mr.  Clinton  was  seized  at  this  moment  with  a  severe 
fit  of  coughing,  and  turned  abruptly  to  the  carriage. 
When  they  were  seated  she  said,  "  There  is  one  objec- 
tion to  this  house ;  it  is  so  far  from  our  church,  that  I 
suppose  it  would  be  difficult  for  Albert  to  walk." 

"  Perhaps  one  of  the  others  would  suit  you  better  in 
that  respect,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Are  you  intending  to  call  upon  Mr.  Wells  this  morn- 
ing ?  "  she  asked  in  surprise  as  he  stopped  at  her  pastor's 
door. 

"  No,"  he  replied,  "  but  I  was  seized  with  a  sudden  de- 
sire to  visit  our  old  home ;  and  thought,  if  you  did  not 
care  to  go  in,  I  could  leave  you  here." 

Mrs.  Clinton  grew  very  pale,  and  put  her  hand  sud- 
denly to  her  heart  as  she  answered :  "  It  would  be  pain- 
ful in  the  extreme,  but  I  will  do  so  if  you  wish  it." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  he,  driving  on. 

She  sighed  heavily,  but  drew  down  her  veil,  and  pre- 
pared to  alight  from  the  carriage.  Albert  was  in  an 
ecstasy  at  the  idea  of  going  into  so  fine  a  house. 

Having  fastened  the  horse  to  the  ring  in  the  marble 
pavement,  Mr.  Clinton  was  obliged  to  put  his  arm  around 
his  wife  to  assist  her  up  the  steps,  so  much  distressed 
was  she  at  the  idea  of  meeting  strangers  at  such  a  time 
and  in  such  a  place. 

"  Can  we  have  the  liberty  of  going  over  the  house  ?  " 
asked  the  gentleman  of  the  servant  who  answered  the 
bell. 

"  Walk  in,  sir,  and  I  will  inquire,"  she  answered  hesi- 
tatingly. 


368  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

Mr.  Clinton  stepped  forward  toward  the  parlor ;  but 
his  wife  stopped  in  the  hall  wholly  unable  to  control  her 
feelings. 

"  It  will  not  be  necessary  for  us  to  go  over  every  part 
of  it,"  said  he,  as  she  reappeared ;  "  I  should  like  to  visit 
the  rooms  on  the  next  floor." 

Josephine  caught  his  arm.  "  Oh,  Russel,  I  cannot,  — 
indeed,  I  cannot  go  up  there ! " 

"  I  will  assist  you,"  he  replied,  putting  his  arm  around 
her,  while  Albert  readily  followed  the  smiling  servant. 

A  cheerful  fire  was  blazing  in  the  grate,  but  neither  of 
the  party  seemed  to  notice  it,  or  anything  which  the 
room  contained;  for,  upon  entering,  the  gentleman 
gave  way  to  a  burst  of  emotion,  the  nature  of  which  his 
wife  found  it  impossible  to  divine.  But  making  a  great 
effort  he  soon  conquered  this,  and  taking  his  astonished 
wife  in  his  arms,  he  said  tenderly :  "  Oh,  my  precious 
wife,  —  forgive  me  for  having  caused  you  such  suffering, 
which  I  was  tempted  to  do  that  I  might  prove  whether 
your  repentance  was  sincere.  This,  dearest,  is  once 
more  our  home, — and  here  we  will  again  begin  life ;  not 
as  we  once  did,  in  our  own  strength,  but  as  our  good 
neighbor  says,  with  religion  to  govern  and  guide  us. 
Here  we  will  daily  implore  strength  of  our  heavenly 
Father  to  fulfil  aright  all  our  duties  to  each  other,  and  to 
our  only  child.  If  we  ever  weary  in  well-doing,  we  will 
visit  the  retired  grave  of  our  dear  little  Emma,  or  call  to 
mind  the  agony  of  the  long  years  when  we  were 
separated. 

That  was  a  blissful  hour  which  followed ;  and  those 
were  blissful  tears,  which  the  happy  wife  shed  as  she  laid 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  dt>9 

her  head  upon  the  breast  of  her  husband,  and  listened  to 
the  trial  it  had  been  to  him  to  take  her  to  that  cold, 
desolate  house,  and  the  delight  which  thrilled  his  soul  at 
her  reply,  that  * with  him  she  could  be  happy  any 
where.'  "It  was  with  difficulty,"  he  added,  "that  I 
could  refrain  from  catching  you  in  my  arms,  and  telling 
you  all;  but  I  had  imposed  this  test  upon  you,  and  I 
determined  to  carry  it  out.  Now  you  are  all  my  own, 
and  hereafter  there  shall  be  no  want  of  confidence 
between  us." 

"  But  how  could  you  afford  to  buy  so  expensive  a 
house  ?  "  she  asked,  smiling  through  her  tears. 

"  Your  husband  is  richer  than  ever,"  he  replied,  press- 
ing her  closely  to  his  heart.  "  I  have  purposed  to  go 
into  business  with  your  father.  I  furnishing  the  capital, 
and  he  giving  his  time  and  experience.  We  have 
already  engaged  our  old  store.  On  Christmas  evening 
I  propose  to  invite  our  friends  to  a  family  party,  and 
give  them  an  account  of  my  tour.  But  I  cannot  wait 
until  that  time  to  say  to  you,  that  whatever  you  may 
have  observed  in  me,  since  my  return,  which  appeared 
like  a  want  of  affection,  you  must  attribute  entirely  to 
my  desire  to  know  if  the  change  in  you,  which  appeared 
too  great  for  me  to  conceive,  was  real,  and  would  stand 
trial ;  or,  whether  it  had  been  caused  by  the  quiet  life 
you  had  led  in  the  society  of  your  kind  uncle.  The 
restraint  I  put  upon  myself  at  our  first  meeting  was  the 
cause  of  terrible  suffering  to  me  for  three  days,  during 
which  I  was  a  hundred  times  upon  the  point  of  sending 
for  you  to  come  to  my  sick  room.  In  your  presence  I 
could  only  disguise  my  agitation  by  an  abruptness  which 


370  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND   MARRIAGES. 

I  noticed  often  caused  you  surprise,  and  perhaps  pain ; 
but  nobly  have  you  stood  the  trial,  and  now  all  necessity 
for  it  has  passed,  and  I  am  convinced  that  God  has  dealt 
with  me,  a  penitent  husband,  in  great  mercy,  and  has 
given  me  such  a  wife  as,  except  in  Oakland,  I  might 
search  for  in  vain  all  over  the  world." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

TABLE-TALK  AND  ENTERTAINMENT. 

THAT  was  a  pleasant  party  which  assembled  in  the 
mansion  of  Mr.  Clinton  on  Christmas  day.  When  the 
guests  were  all  seated  around  the  dinner-table  the 
hostess  pleasantly  remarked,  that,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  experience  of  party-giving,  every  one  was  present 
who  had  been  "  bidden." 

"  Another  fact  is  worthy  of  notice,"  remarked  the  host, 
with  an  impressive  manner ;  "  we  know  that  all  present 
are  true  friends,  because  we  are  united,  not  by  the 
ephemeral  ties  which  the  loss  of  a  few  dollars  will 
sunder,  neither  by  party  politics  which,  at  present,  are  so 
violently  agitating  the  public  mind,  but  by  the  enduring 
bond  of  Christian  friendship." 

"  I  am  happy  to  respond  to  that  sentiment,"  continued 
Mr.  Bentley,  who  with  his  wife  and  son  were  among  the 
guests  ;  "but,  until  within  a  few  months,  I  was  ignorant 
of  the  nature  and  strength  of  such  a  bond." 

Mrs.  Bentley,  who  was  seated  next  her  friend,  Mrs. 
Hammond,  grasped  her  hand,  and  with  dewy  eyes, 
whispered :  "  You,  dear  madam,  first  taught  me  to 
understand  and  value  Christian  sympathy  and  love. 
Oh,  how  different  from  my  fashionable  friends,  who  fled 
from  the  sight  of  my  distress  ! " 

"  Thank  yo.u,  my  dear,  replied  Mrs.  Hammond,  in  a 

(371) 


372  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  | 

low  voice,  and  returning  warmly  the  pressure  of  her 
hand. 

But  it  is  high  time  that  I  should  name  the  honored 
guests.  There  was  the  good  pastor  on  the  right  hand 
of  the  host ;  opposite  him  was  Mr.  Thomas  Warren ; 
then  followed  Mrs.  Warren,  and  her  cousin  Helen  Rus- 
sel,  who  was  passing  the  winter  with  her ;  and  opposite 
them  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bentley,  Mrs.  Hammond,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Whitney,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Talbot ;  then  uncle  James 
and  aunt  Sarah,  with  Mrs.  Wells  next  to  the  hostess. 

After  the  numerous  courses  had  been  served,  and  the 
servants  having  placed  the  dessert  of  fruit  upon  the 
table  had  retired  from  the  room,  Mr.  Clinton  called  for 
sentiments,  —  Mr.  Warren,  Mr.  Bentley,  and  Mr.  Talbot 
having  responded,  the  host  with  a  meaning  smile  upon 
his  countenance,  called  out  his  good  pastor.  "  I  have 
one  sentiment,"  returned  Mr.  Wells, "  but  I  have  repeated 
it  to  my  neighbor  so  often  of  late,  that  I  see  he  expects 
a  repetition  of  it  now,  and  I  will  not  disappoint  him  : 
"  Religion  —  the  best  refiner  of  our  domestic  enjoy- 
ments." 

This  sentiment  was  received,  not  with  a  round  of 
applause,  but  with  delight  by  many  who,  in  their  own 
experience,  had  proved  its  beauty,  and  who,  with  grate- 
ful hearts,  eagerly  responded  to  its  truthfulness. 

The  guests  then  adjourned  to  the  parlor,  until  sum- 
moned back  to  the  pleasant  sight  of  Master  Albert,  pre- 
siding at  a  table  filled  with  his  guests.  Here  were  the 
twins,  occupying  seats  of  honor  opposite  their  host,  and 
next  them  Master  Melville  and  Frederic  Wells,  Mary 
Carlton  Warren,  and  little  Laura,  in  the  arms  of  her 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  373 

nurse  Nora,  then  a  timid  little  girl,  whose  attention  was 
wholly  diverted  from  the  gratification  of  her  appetite,  by 
the  number  of  strange  faces  about  her,  and  who  answered 
to  the  name  of  Lily  or  Elizabeth  Whitney.  A  very 
merry  group  was  this,  who  needed  no  wine  to  raise  their 
spirits,  as  their  frequent  shouts  during  the  discussion  of 
their  fruit  well  testified,  they  having  partaken  of  their 
more  substantial  repast,  under  the  superintendence  of 
their  mothers,  some  hours  previous. 

The  latter  part  of  the  afternoon  was  devoted  exclu- 
sively to  the  children,  during  which  Mr.  Wells  and  Mr. 
Warren  proved  that  they  had  not  forgotten  the  games  of 
their  childhood. 

Helen  excited  quite  a  laugh  by  the  remark,  "  why, 
father,  I  didn't  know  you  could  play  blind  man's  buff; 
and  you  can  catch  quicker  than  any  one  of  us." 

"  It  will  take  you  some  time,  my  dear,  to  learn  all  your 
father's  accomplishments,"  replied  her  mother,  laughing 
heartily  at  the  astonishment  exhibited  by  the  child. 

When  the  guests  were  called  to  supper  after  the  chil- 
dren with  the  exception  of  the  twins  had  been  sent  home, 
the  conversation  turned  upon  the  subject,  so  often  dis- 
cussed, of  amusements  for  children. 

What  amusement  ought  Christian  parents  to  allow 
their  children? 

"  That  is  a  grave  subject,  remarked  Mr.  Wells,  and  has 
puzzled  many  parents  who  were  truly  desirous  of  know- 
ing their  duty.  One  point  is  very  plain,  children  need 
amusement  of  some  kind.  It  is  as  necessary  to  the 
healthy  development  of  all  their  powers,  as  the  exercise 
32 


374  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

of  their  voice  in  reading  is  to  proper  modulation.  But 
in  what  shall  this  consist  ?  " 

"  I  must  confess,"  said  Mr.  Bentley,  "  that  I  shared 
considerably  in  your  little  daughter's  astonishment,  at 
seeing  you  engage  personally  in  such  a  game  as  blind 
man's  buff,  or  even  to  sanction  it  with  your  presence.  I 
was  taught  that  clergymen  of  your  sect  were  very  much 
opposed  to  such  sport  But  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me 
for  saying  that  it  is  in  this  respect  as  in  many  others  in 
which  I  have  had  reason  to  change  my  opinion,  the  more 
I  see  of  truly  Christian  people,  the  more  I  am  convinced 
that  they  have  been  belied,  and  that  they  only  know 
how  to  extract  real  happiness  from  social  enjoyments." 

Mr.  Wells  smiled  as  he  replied,  "  the  surprise  of  Helen 
was  not  that  I  joined  in  childish  games ;  she,  as  well  as 
her  sisters  and  lively  brother  have  had  almost  daily  ex- 
perience of  my  skill  in  them,  but  simply  that  blind 
man's  buff  was  in  the  list  of  my  accomplishments.  Be- 
fore I  took  upon  myself  the  responsibilities  of  a  father,  I 
reflected  much  upon  the  subject  of  family  government ; 
and  I  believe  the  more  parents  interest  themselves  in  all 
that  pertains  to  the  wants  of  their  children,  the  more  in- 
fluence they  will  have  over  them.  I  have  good  author- 
ity for  such  a  belief  in  the  training  of  the  family  of  my 
good  Professor,  Dr.  Chalmers.  Never  was  a  father  more 
familiar  with  his  children,  and  at  certain  hours,  enjoyed 
a  lively  game  with  them,  as  heartily  as  any  child  I  ever 
saw.  I  have  often  called  at  his  house  during  his  hour 
of  relaxation,  and  seen  him  chasing  them  around  the 
room,  or  rolling  upon  the  floor,  while  the  house  rang  with 
their  merry  peals,  and  yet  his  authority  was  never  dis- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  375 

puted.  His  uncommon  regard  to  the  welfare  of  his 
daughters,  and  his  desire  to  provide  for  their  amusement 
were  ajso  seen  in  the  eagerness  with  which  when  he  was 
away  from  home,  he  noted  everything  in  his  journal 
which  could  give  them  pleasure,  and  the  remark  was 
often  appended  when  he  related  a  good  anecdote,  "  read 
that  to  Annie  and  Eleanor ;  or  Gracie  will  be  pleased 
with  that." 

"  The  fact  is  well  established,  I  believe,"  remarked  Mr. 
Warren,  after  a  short  pause,  "  that  children  need  amuse- 
ments of  some  kind.  As  I  have  a  little  Miss  who  will 
presently  be  coming  on  the  stage,  I  should  like  to  be  in- 
formed what  are  admissible  and  what  are  inadmissible." 

"  You  have  introduced  an  extensive  subject  for  discus- 
sion," replied  his  brother-in-law,  "  and  one  which  as 
Christian  parents  interests  us  deeply ;  but  as  we  hope 
this  evening  to  hear  an  account  of  our  host's  adventures 
during  his  long  absence,  about  which  I  confess  to  no 
small  share  of  curiosity,  I  propose  that  we  postpone  the 
discussion  of  it  until  some  future  time." 

After  a  few  words  in  a  low  voice  to  his  wife,  Mr. 
Warren  replied,  "  we  will  defer  it  until  New  Year's  day, 
when  I  am  requested  by  my  good  wife  to  invite  you  all 
to  our  house,  not  excepting  the  babies,  and  their  nurses." 

This  informal  invitation  being  cheerfully  accepted,  the 
party  adjourned  from  the  tea-table  to  the  parlors,  where 
they  requested  Mr.  Clinton  to  gratify  their  curiosity. 

"  That  will  not  take  long,"  remarked  the  host,  seating 
himself  near  his  wife,  while  master  Albert  who  had  been 
permitted  to  be  present,  occupied  a  chair  near  him. 
"  When  I  have  stated  one  fact,  and  pointed  your 


376  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

tion  to  a  trifling  circumstance  which  seems  to  have  es- 
caped the  attention  of  my  good  father-in-law  and  some 
of  his  friends,  you  will  have  the  clue  to  my  history.  My 
dear  Josephine,"  he  asked,  turning  to  his  wife,  "  did  the 
thought  never  occur  to  you  that  I  had  changed  my  name 
during  my  absence  ?  " 

Mrs.  Clinton  shook  her  head  thoughtfully,  while  her 
father  started  suddenly  from  his  chair,  and  exclaimed  as 
he  grasped  him  by  the  hand,  "  you  are  Mr.  Manners,  the 
skilful  accountant,  to  whom  I  owe  all  that  I  have  re- 
ceived from  India.  You  are  Mr.  Manners  who  has  made 
such  an  immense  fortune  by  exporting  from  India  to  this 
country,  and  to  all  parts  of  the  world,  the  hides  you 
bought  of  the  natives." 

Mr.  Clinton  smiled  assent ;  but  his  wife  shuddered  as 
she  realized  the  dangers,  and  hair-breadth  escapes  through 
which  he  had  passed,  for  with  the.  history  of  Mr.  Man- 
ners she  was  perfectly  familiar. 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  fact  I  wished  to  mention ;  now  for 
the  other  point.  In  the  rendering  of  the  accounts  to  oui 
creditors  at  home,  it  often  occurred  to  me  as  remarkable 
that  the  fact  of  my  portion  of  the  proceeds  as  a  member 
of  the  firm,  being  withheld,  and  no  notice  taken  of  it  by 
the  agent,  did  not  excite  from  my  friends  here  some  in- 
quiry or  remark ;  but  I  must  explain  as  I  go  on,  which  T 
shall  do  very  briefly. 

"  When  I  left  home,  it  appeared  to  me  exceedingly 
doubtful  whether  I  should  ever  return.  I  had  been  suf- 
fering from  an  attack  of  fever,  and  the  excitement  and 
press  of  business  attending  my  departure,  brought  on  a 
relapse  on  board  ship,  so  that  for  many  days  my  life  was 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  377 

despaired  of.  One  of  my  fellow -passengers,  a  young  man 
whose  care,  under  God,  probably  saved  my  life,  told  me 
when  I  recovered  that  I  was  continually  in  my  delirium, 
calling  "  Josephine,"  and  imploring  her  not  to  leave  me ; 
and  he  asked  me  who  she  was. 

"  At  the  end  of  six  months  from  the  time  I  parted  from 
my  wife  and  children  I  landed  in  Calcutta,  and  immedi- 
ately sought  employment  in  our  own  firm,  under  the  as- 
sumed name  of  Manners.  I  gradually  won  upon  their 
confidence,  and  at  length  the  whole  of  the  counting-room 
business  fell  into  my  hands.  I  was  able  yearly  to  remit 
large  sums  for  dues  to  our  creditors,  and  at  length,  of 
profit  to  the  firm.  My  own  share  I  retained,  as  I  knew 
my  wife  was  in  good  hands  and  1  had  other  projects. 
Soon  after  the  reception  of  a  letter  from  her  informing 
me  of  the  death  of  our  daughter,  which,"  he  added, 
slowly  opening  his  pocket-book,  and  unfolding  a  worn 
and  yellow  paper,  "  being  the  only  one  I  received  from 
her  during  my  absence  of  six  years,  you  can  easily 
imagine  was  a  very  precious  epistle,  —  I  conceived  the 
idea  of  recovering  my  position  as  a  man  of  property, 
and  of  returning  home. 

"  To  do  this,  I  needed  capital ;  and  as  I  received  a 
good  salary,  and  lived  almost  penuriously,  I  succeeded 
in  laying  .by  something ;  and  when  I  found  that  quite  a 
considerable  sum  fell  to  my  share  of  the  profits,  I  de- 
termined to  commence  operations  wdthout  delay. 

"  To  avoid  suspicion"  from  the  agent,  I  invariably  made  , 
up  the  account,  and  myself  wrote  Mr.  Talbot,  and  each 
one  of  the  firm,  myself  among   the  number,  enclosing 
the  amount  due,  and  then  of  course  retaining  that  which 
32* 


378  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

belonged  to  me.  But  I  did  wonder,  not  a  little,  that  no 
letters  were  addressed  to  the  agent  demanding,  in  the 
name  of  my  family,  the  part  which  I  thus  kept  back. 
In  such  event  I  had  made  up  my  mind,  at  once  to 
make  myself  known  to  him,  and  thus  prove  my  right  to 
it ;  but  the  necessity  for  this  never  occurred ;  and  not 
until  the  day  previous  to  my  leaving  India  did  I  impart 
to  the  house,  which  I  had  served  in  the  capacity  of 
accountant,  the  secret  I  had  so  carefully  guarded. 

"  I  made  rather  a  hazardous  experiment  when  I  ex- 
pended every  cent  I  could  call  my  own  in  hiring  a  com- 
pany of  natives  to  hunt  for  me  among  the  jungles  of 
Hindostan ;  but  the  very  first  return  yielded  so  enor- 
mous a  profit,  that  I  hired  twice  the  number  the  next 
year.  Except  the  hours  when  I  was  devoted  to  the 
business  of  the  firm,  I  bent  my  whole  energies  to  the  task 
of  making  money ;  and  I  succeeded  far  beyond  my 
expectations. 

"  During  the  best  seasons  I  myself  became  a  hunter, 
and  sometimes  was  so  engaged  and  excited  in  the  fear- 
ful chase  after  game  that  for  a  few  hours  I  was  free 
from  the  dreadful  weight  of  sorrow  which,  waking  or 
sleeping,  the  unfortunate  separation  from  my  family 
caused  me.  I  even  became  notorious  as  a  marksman, 
and  a  hunter,  among  those  who  had  been  trained  to  it 
from  their  youth ;  and  accounts  of  my  daring  exploits 
were  published  and  spread  all  over  England." 
'  "  Yes,  and  America  too,"  exclaimed  his  father-in-law, 
interrupting  him. 

"  Well,"  continued  Mr.  Clinton,  pressing  his  lips  upon 
the  paper  he  held  in  his  hand,  and  carefully  returning  it 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WIDDED    LIFE.  379 

to  his  pocket-book,  "  I  believe  I  have  communicated  all 
that  will  interest  you." 

"  Oh,  go  on  !  go  on !  "  was  repeated  again  and  again  ; 
while  the  tearful  wife,  in  answer  to  a  whispered  remark 
of  her  husband,  bowed  her  assent. 

"  As  Josephine  gives  her  consent,"  he  resumed,  "  I  will 
merely  add  that,  though  I  became  rich,  I  was  not  happy. 
There  was  a  dreadful  void  in  my  heart ;  and  at  the  com- 
mencement of  this  year  I  determined  to  return  to  Ameri- 
ca, whether  permanently  or  not,  remained  to  be  proved 
when  I  should  arrive  at  home.  But  it  took  some  time 
to  arrange  my  business  so  that  I  could  leave  without 
considerable  sacrifice,  and  I  began  to  doubt  whether  I 
could  get  away  for  another  year,  when  I  was  startled  by 
a  vivid  dream,  in  which  I  returned  home  and  found  my 
wife  married  again.  You  will  not  wonder  at  it,  when  I  tell 
you  that  this  thought,  which  had  never  once  before  oc- 
curred to  me,  took  such  full  possession  of  my  mind  that 
I  determined  to  sail  for  America  in  the  next  vessel  at 
whatever  sacrifice. 

"  By  a  fortunate  circumstance,  the  necessity  for  this 
was  obviated  by  my  meeting  a  gentleman  of  large  capi- 
tal, who  wished  to  take  my  business.  I  made  a  good 
bargain,  reserving  the  right  to  return  and  enter  into 
partnership  with  him  at  any  time  in  the  course  of  four 
years." 

"  Never !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Clinton,  with  decision. 

"  If  that  is  your  settled  determination,  my  dear,  I  will 
write  him  at  once ;  for  I  suppose  now  I  am  living  in 
your  house,  I  must  obey  orders,"  remarked  he  with  ap 
arch  smile. 


380  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

"  I  do  not  understand  you,"  she  began. 

"  Well,  I  will  explain  that  by  and  by ;  now,  I  must 
finish  my  long  story.  Of  course,  living  as  I  had  done 
would  hardly  be  promotive  of  piety  or  refinement.  In- 
deed, I  had  almost  forgotten  the  rules  of  civilized  society. 
When  on  board  ship  I  met  an  honest  tar,  than  whom,  1 
venture  to  say,  a  more  godly  man  never  piloted  a  vessel. 
He  had  a  pocket  in  his  round-a-bout  where  he  kept  a 
small  book  to  wile  away  his  leisure  hours.  I  had  often 
noticed  the  good  old  tar  reading  and  wiping  his  eyes,  — 
and  one  day  I  approached  him  determining  to  see  what 
the  book  contained.  As  soon  as  he  perceived  me  he 
shut  it  up,  and  put  it  again  in  his  breast  pocket.  '  What's 
that  you  have  there  ? '  I  asked. 

" '  Only  my  law  book,'  he  replied,  turning  away. 

" '  Law  book,'  I  repeated,  in  surprise.  "  I  had  no  idea 
that  law  books  would  make  the  tears  stream  down  a 
man's  cheeks  as  they  have  down  yours  all  the  time  you 
have  been  reading.' 

" '  Only  illustrating  the  laws,'  said  he,  rising. 

"  My  curiosity  was  now  thoroughly  excited,  and  I 
asked  to  see  the  book. 

"  '  Sorry  I  can't  oblige  you,  sir,'  he  replied ;  « but  my 
sister,  that's  dead  and  gone,  give  it  to  me,  and  I  set  a 
power  by  it.' 

"  Two  days  after  this  was  the  Sabbath  ;  and  as  I  was 
leaning  over  the  side  of  the  ship,  and  thinking  of  home, 
Michael  passed  me  in  the  prosecution  of  his  duties. 
When  I  looked  up  I  suppose  he  saw  tears  in  my  eyes, 
and  quick  as  thought  he  thrust  his  hand  in  his  pocket, 
and  brought  out  his  law  book. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  381 

" '  Here,  Mister  Manners,'  he  said  quickly ;  * may  be 
you  'd  like  to  read  this  'ere  a  few  minutes ;  I  calculate 
you'  d  be  careful  on  it,  for  the  sake  of  my  sister.' 

"  I  held  out  my  hand  eagerly,  and  took  the  book  ;  and, 
truly,  the  laws  it  contained  caused  all  my  bones  to 
shake,  while  its  glorious  illustrations,  to  which  the  owner 
had  referred,  caused  my  eyes  to  pour  forth  rivers  of 
water,  until  I  was  forced,  in  anguish  of  spirit,  to  call 
upon  my  ignorant  friend  to  expound  them  for  me.  Truly, 
never  man  rejoiced  over  another  as  he  did  over  me  in  my 
hours  of  groaning  over  those  broken  laws.  The  more  I 
cried  out  in  agony  of  spirit,  the  more  he  thanked  God ; 
until  at  last  he  pointed  me  to  a  way  of  escape,  of  which, 
though  I  had  often  heard,  —  yet  I  never  realized  its  full- 
ness until  I  tried  it,  and  found  it  satisfied  my  heart.  And 
now,  good  Michael,  instead  of  rejoicing  over  me,  rejoiced 
with  me,  and  many  delightful  hours  we  passed  in  read- 
ing the  illustrations  in  his  divine  law  book,  which, 
by  the  help  of  its  Author  I  also  had  adopted  as  the  rule 
of  my  life. 

"  When  I  reached  New  York,  and  was  about  to  take 
leave  of  my  good  friend,  I  offered  him  money  if  he 
would  leave  the  sea,  and  live  where  I  could  see  him 
occasionally.  But  this  he  refused,  and  all  I  could  per- 
suade him  to  accept  was  an  order,  carte  blanche,  upon  a 
certain  house  in  New  York  for  as  many  law-books  as  he 
could  distribute,  either  here  or  abroad. 

Leaving  my  baggage  in  his  care,  to  be  sent  to  me  at 
the  hotel,  I  took  pains  to  ascertain  whether  my  good 
uncle  was  still  living  at  Oakland,  and  proceeded  thither 
without  a  moment's  delay.  The  good  Providence  which 


382  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

has  watched  over  me  in  all  my  wanderings,  led  me  to 
the  spot  just  in  time  to  save  the  life  of  my  child.  But 
the  restraint  I  there  put  upon  my  heart,  in  accordance 
with  a  plan  I  had  formed  of  trying  to  disguise  myself 
from  my  wife,  brought  on  a  severe  sickness ;  and  for 
three  days  I  did  not  leave  my  bed. 

"  I  then  returned  to  Oakland,  found  Josephine  had 
recognized  me ;  and  in  short,"  he  added,  catching  a  sup- 
plicating glance  from  her,  "  after  subjecting  her  to  some 
pretty  severe  tests,  out  of  which  she  came  triumphant,  I 
brought  her  here,  and  made  over  to  her  half  my  fortune, 
so  that  she  never  again  need  be  subject  to  reverses.  Of 
this  latter  fact,  however,  she  was  entirely  ignorant ;  and 
I  am  happy  in  the  belief  that  with  her,  it  is  of  no  ac- 
count compared  with  the  restoration  of  her  husband." 

The  ardor  with  which  the  happy  wife  caught  the  hand 
of  her  husband,  and  pressed  it  in  her  own,  was  the  only 
answer  he  wished;  and  soon  after,  the  guests  having 
expressed  their  great  pleasure  at  the  interview  withdrew 
to  their  own  homes. 

On  New-years-day  the  same  party  assembled  at  Mr. 
Warren's,  where,  after  a  bountiful  repast,  the  afternoon 
was  spent  in  amusing  and  instructive  games  with  the 
children. 

When  at  an  early  hour  the  young  people  returned 
home,  the  conversation  was  renewed  upon  the  subject 
of  amusements. 

"  I  have  anticipated  listening  to  the  discussion  with 
great  pleasure,"  remarked  Mr.  Bentley,  "  and  as  it  pro- 
gresses shall  wish  to  ask  some  questions." 

"  The  subject  proposed  by  my  brother,"  said  Mr.  Wells, 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  383 

"  was  this :  '  What  amusements  ought  Christian  parents 
to  allow  their  children  ? ' 

"  There  are  some  entertainments,  perfectly  innocent  in 
themselves,  which  have  fallen  into  disfavor  with  Chris- 
tians on  account  of  the  company  into  which  they  lead ; 
for  instance,  dancing.  No  one,  I  presume,  will  say  that 
the  mere  physical  exercise  of  dancing  and  whirling 
in  time  and  tune,  required  by  this  amusement,  is  in 
itself  sinful;  it  is  surely  no  more  so,  than  trundling  a  hoop 
or  jumping  a  rope.  But  when  children  go  to  a  dancing 
school,  they  are  thus  brought  into  company  with  many 
others  who  are  interested  in  the  same  sport.  The  con- 
sequence is,  they  are  invited  out  together  to  balls  and 
parties,  where  the  heated  rooms  and  late  suppers  are  as 
injurious  to  their  bodily  health  as  the  lessons  of  detrac- 
tion, envy  and  jealousy  are  to  their  mental  cultivation." 

"  What  do  you  say  of  theatres  and  whist  parties  ? " 
asked  Miss  Sarah  Wallace,  leaning  forward,  and  listen- 
ing with  great  interest  ? 

"  In  the  esteem  of  many,  and  among  them  are  some 
of  the  wise  and  good,  these  belong  to  nearly  the  same 
class,"  replied  the  pastor ;  "  while  I  cheerfully  admit, 
that  there  are  both  entertainment  and  instruction  in 
many  of  the  dramas  of  the  old  masters  read  in  private 
or  by  the  fireside,  I  have  yet  to  learn  any  advantages  to 
be  derived  from  their  performance  on  a  degenerate  stage, 
which  at  all  compensate  for  the  expense  and  exposure." 

"  Place  a  child  at  the  whist  or  faro  table,  and  put  cards 
into  his  hands.  At  first,  he  has  no  interest  in  the  games ; 
but  you  encourage  him,  by  saying  that  he  will  soon  be 
interested  in  it  He  is  excited.  The  simple  desire  to  be 


384  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES', 

the  victor  is  sufficient  at  first ;  but  soon  that  seems  tame ; 
a  small  stake  must  be  laid  down,  just  enough  to  add 
excitement ;  and  thus  it  goes  on,  until  his  whole  soul  is 
burning  with  a  desire  to  win.  Then,  his  parents  become 
alarmed ;  he  is  no  longer  content  to  play  a  quiet  game 
at  home,  but  must  go  to  some  gambling  saloon,  where 
the  brilliantly  illuminated  apartments,  and  the  choicest 
of  wines  add  to  the  already  over-excited  frame,  —  and 
for  the  time  he  is  insane!  Entreaty  and  warning  are 
alike  unavailing ;  a  passion  has  been  acquired  wrhich, 
now,  he  cannot  master. 

"  As  to  the  theatre,  the  child  at  first  only  enjoys  the 
excitement  of  the  crowded  house,  —  the  loud  applause 
of  the  audience  as  a  favorite  actress  appears  on  the 
stage.  He  cannot  understand  or  appreciate  what  is 
really  the  interest  of  the  play,  and  it  is  often  well  that  he 
cannot,  since  so  many  of  them  are  decidedly  immoral  in 
their  tendency.  But  the  habit  of  going  to  the  theatre  is 
formed,  pleasant  associations  are  connected  with  it ; 
and,  as  the  youth  advances  in  life,  he  attends  two  or 
three  times  in  a  week.  This,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
expense,  is  certainly  placing  him  just  so  often  in  the 
way  of  temptation.  I  do  not  say  that  a  man  cannot  be 
moral,  and  be  a  constant  attendant  at  the  theatre  ;  but  I 
should  look  upon  such  a  man  just  as  I  should  upon  a 
youth,  who  had  repeatedly  passed  through  the  fire  with- 
out being  burned.  He  would  be  the  exception  to  the 
general  rule.  He  mixes  with  all  classes  of  society.  For 
instance,  take  a  youth  who  is  a  stranger  in  the  city ;  he 
visits  a  theatre  for  the  first  time ;  he  is  seated  in  close 
proximity  with  a  woman  who  has  beauty  of  person,  and 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  385 

is  gayly  attired,  but  in  whose  heart  vile  passion  reigns, 
and  who  is  described  by  inspiration  as  the  one  'whose 
lips  drop  as  an  honeycomb,  whose  mouth  is  smoother 
than  oil,  but  whose  end  is  bitter  as  wormwood,  sharp  as 
a  two  edged  sword.  Her  feet  go  down  to  death,  her 
steps  take  hold  on  hell.' 

"  I  shudder  as  I  think  of  his  danger !  The  excitement 
of  the  scene,  the  half-dressed  actresses,  the  subject  of  the 
play  are  so  many  aids  to  the  vile  being  who  has  fastened 
on  him  as  her  prey.  There  is  no  escape  for  him  and  he 
returns  home,  in  all  probability,  not  the  susceptible  and 
virtuous  youth  he  was  when  he  went ;  for  his  baser 
passions  have  been  excited,  his  unhallowed  desires 
stimulated.  His  feet  have  strayed  from  the  only  safe 
path,  and  he  is  already  on  the  road  to  ruin. 

"  Few  parents  would  deliberately  put  the  wine  cup  to 
the  lips  of  their  child  if  they  realized  that,  in  so  doing, 
they  were  cultivating  a  taste  which  might  lead  him  to  a 
drunkard's  grave  ;  and  so  with  the  class  of  amusements 
of  which  we  have  been  speaking.  The  parents  allow 
them,  with  the  vain  hope  that  they  will  be  indulged  to 
moderation ;  but  this  will  not  be  likely  soon  to  be  the 
case  in  Young  America." 

"  What,  then,  is  there  left  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Bentley,  se- 
riously. 

"  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  there  were  not  many 
sources  of  healthful  and  profitable  amusements  for 
youth,  even  in  our  cities."  Mr.  Wells  answered,  cheer- 
fully, "  For  young  children,  I  am  much  in  favor  of  out- 
door exercises  and  sports,  such  as  playing  ball,  driving 
33 


386  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

the  hoop,  skipping  the  rope  or  flying  the  kite.  You  and 
I,  Thomas,  never  found  any  lack  of  variety  in  our 
games.  Then,  for  little  girls,  there  is  the  never-ending 
pleasure  of  dressing  and  undressing  their  dolls,  playing 
*  Come  and  See,'  which  my  little  ones  act  out  by  the 
hour  together.  Sometimes  they  have  a  store,  and 
arrange  all  their  toys  in  order  for  purchasers,  which 
proves  useful  to  them  in  many  respects.  Indeed,  there 
is  no  end  to  the  fertility  of  their  imaginations  in  striv- 
ing to  act  out,  in  miniature,  the  scenes  they  witness 
in  real  life. 

"  I  imagine,  after  all,  the  difficulty  lies  in  another 
direction.  All  these  things  cause  some  trouble  in  the 
house ;  some  disarrangement  of  the  furniture ;  so  that, 
if  the  mother  does  not  make  it  a  point  of  duty,  she  will 
discourage  in-door  games.  Then  if  the  parents  wish 
their  children  to  be  interested  at  home,  they  must  take 
pains  to  render  home  agreeable.  They  must  enter  with 
zest  into  their  pursuits,  give  them  aid  and  advice,  and 
encourage  them  by  their  presence.  I  must  allude  again 
to  my  good  teacher,  Doctor  Chalmers. 

"  One  day,  his  deacon  and  elder  called  to  see  him 
upon  business.  They  were  ushered  into  the  sitting- 
room  where  the  family  were  assembled,  and  found  their 
minister  upon  the  floor,  playing  marbles  with  his  chil- 
dren. Without  rising  from  his  fumble  position,  the 
Doctor  called  out  to  them  to  join^in  the  play.  They 
did  so,  and  entered  heartily  into  the  game.  At  length, 
the  deacon  said :  '  This  is  not  the  way  I  used  to  play  it 
in  Galloway.'  «  Come  along,  then,'  said  the  Doctor, « let 
us  try  the  Galloway  plan,'  which  they  did,  until  Mrs. 


OR,   THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  387 

Chalmers  said,  pleasantly :  '  What  a  fine  article  it  would 
make  for  the  Chronicle  were  it  stated  that  Doctor  Chal- 
mers, with  his  elder  and  deacon,  played  at  marbles,  for 
an  hour,  upon  the  floor,  with  the  children ! ' "  * 

*  Memoirs  of  Chalmers. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

MELVILLE  AND  UNCLE  GORDON. 

I  HAVE  been  this  morning  with  my  husband  to  call 
ujxm  Mr.  William  Russel  and  his  bride,  cousins  of  my 
sister  Laura.  She  is  a  lovely  young  lady,  and  fully  an- 
swers to  the  description  her  lively  cousin  Helen  gave 
me  of  her.  I  was  happy  to  learn  that  he  has  taken  an 
office  in  Cheswell  in  partnership  with  Mr.  Stan  wood.  I 
wrote  a  hasty  note  of  introduction  for  her  to  my  frienfl 
Mary.  Laura  is  delighted  with  their  prospects.  She 
presented  the  bride  with  a  magnificent  set  of  plate, 
though  they  are  not  at  present  intending  to  go  to  house- 
keeping. 

On  our  return  home,  we  found  a  letter  from  father,  in 
which  he  says  he  is  again  disappointed  in  the  hope  of 
educating  a  son  for  the  ministry.  Edward,  who  is  nearly 
through  his  Junior  year  in  college,  has  expressed  his 
decided  preference  for  mercantile  life;  and  father  and 
mother  have  reluctantly  consented  to  allow  him  to  leave 
college.  When  brother  Thomas  was  last  at  home,  they 
had  some  anxieties  with  reference  to  his  course,  as  he 
had  all  along  declared  that  he  was  not  suited  for  a  cler- 
gyman, a  profession  which  he  knew  they  had  in  view 
when  they  sent  him  to  college ;  and  at  that  time  Thomas 
offered  to  procure  him  a  place  in  a  counting-room.  The 
object  of  father's  letter  was  to  ask  us  to  take  the  subject 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  389 

into  consideration,  and  let  him  know  what  we  think  is 
best  for  the  boy. 

Our  neighbors  across  the  street  manifest  a  great 
desire  to  be  friendly.  Mr.  Bentley  came  in  a  week  ago, 
having  learned  from  the  little  girls  that  their  school  was 
about  to  commence  a  new  session,  —  to  make  inquiries 
whether  it  would  be  a  suitable  one  for  Melville.  I  was 
happy  to  recommend  it  to  him.  He  says  he  was  greatly 
surprised  to  hear  from  Frederic  that  he  was  the  same 
age  as  his  little  son ;  that  they  have  been  in  the  habit  of 
thinking  he  was  still  a  baby,  and  treating  him  as  such. 
I  told  him  Frederic  had  a  firm  constitution,  and  was 
uncommonly  fearless  for  a  boy  of  his  age.  He  sighed  as 
he  replied,  that  he  feared  years  would  be  necessary  to 
undo  the  sad  effects  of  their  neglect  of  Melville's  educa- 
tion, that  he  had  been  pampered  with  sweetmeats,  and 
rich  cake,  until  his  appetite  was  so  perverted  that  he 
could  not  relish  food  which  he  ought  to  take  ;  and  then 
as  to  general  knowledge,  or  the  ability  to  think  and  act 
for  himself,  he  was  as  ignorant  and  helpless  as  an 
infant. 

I  begged  him  to  lose  no  time  in  making  an  entire 
change  in  the  boy's  diet.  "  My  children,"  I  added, 
"  make  their  breakfast  and  supper  o'f  bread  and  milk, 
which  we  engage  of  a  farmer  in  the  country.  For 
dinner,  they  eat  heartily  of  one  course  of  meat  and 
vegetables,  and  seldom  care  for  puddings  or  pastry. 
If  I  were  his  mother,  I  should  refuse  him  sweetmeats 
and  cake  as  1  should  poison.  Let  his  stomach  rest. 
It  will  do  him  no  harm  to  go  without  food  for  a  whole 
day  until  he  really  craves  it ;  then  he  will  eat  bread  and 
33* 


390  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

milk  with  a  relish.  I  wish,"  I  added,  smiling,  "  that  you 
would  give  me  the  care  of  him  for  a  week." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  Certainly  I  am.  If  his  mother  will  consent  to  give 
him  up  wholly  to  me  during  his  meals,  I  will  promise 
that  in  a  week  he  will  eat  as  heartily  of  bread  and  milk 
as  Frederic  does." 

"  I  do  not  hesitate  to  promise  for  her ;  I  know  she  will 
consider  it  a  great  favor,  because  she  really  cannot  resist 
the  child  when  he  pleads  for  food." 

"  If  that  is  the  case,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  keep  him 
here  throughout  the  day;  and  I  am  ready  to  begin  to- 
morrow morning.  Let  him  come  here  to  breakfast,  and 
then  he  can  accompany  the  children  to  school,  if  you 
conclude  to  send  him  there." 

After  this  conversation,  Mr.  Bentley  hastened  away  .to 
talk  over  the  subject  with  his  wife ;  and  returned  in  an 
hour  to  tell  me  that  she  thankfully  accepted  my  kind 
offer. 

Yesterday  my  husband  carried  father's  letter  to 
Thomas;  and  they  agreed  to  invite  the  whole  family 
to  come  to  New  York  for  a  month,  and  then  we  could 
have  time  to  arrange  everything.  Father  has  not  taken 
so  long  a  vacation  for  many  years ;  but  I  think  he  will 
find  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  a  supply ;  and  Thomas 
inclosed  a  hundred  dollar  bill  to  cover  all  expenses. 
Henry  wished  to  join  equally  in  this  gift ;  but  brother 
was  peremptory  in  refusing.  It  will  be  a  great  under- 
taking for  them  ;  but  I  think  on  Edward's  account  they 
will  come.  I  am  sure  Gracie  will  urge  them  to  do  so. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  391 

I  had  no  idea  yesterday,  when  I  proposed  io  take 
Melville,  what  a  trial  it  would  be  to  my  feelings.  Dear 
little  fellow!  It  is  certain  he  has  been  greatly  neglected  ; 
but  his  parents  are  now  earnestly  striving  to  atone  for 
their  neglect.  His  temporary  absence  from  home,  though 
so  afflictive  at  the  time,  has  wrought  a  great  and  happy 
change  in  their  family. 

Melville  came  in  just  as  we  were  sitting  down  to 
breakfast,  his  hair  nicely  curled,  and  he  looking  as  sweet 
and  delicate  as  a  lily  of  the  valley.  I  could  not  avoid 
contrasting  him  by  a  glance  with  my  bright-eyed,  rosy- 
cheeked  boy  in  whose  untiring  activity  one  could  easily 
discover  the  full  vigor  of  a  healthy  frame.  His  father 
who  brought  him  in,  noticed  the  glance,  and  sighed  as 
he  asked,  "  Do  you  think  we  shall  ever  have  him  looking 
as  healthy  as  this  little  fellow  ?  " 

Frederic  appeared  quite  indignant.  "  I  am  not  little, 
sir;  I'm  as  tall  as  Helen  and  Fanny,  and  I  am  growing 
to  be  a  man."  We  all  laughed  at  his  pompous  air,  as  he 
swelled  himself  out. 

"  Here,  Melville,"  he  continued,  "  you  can  have  my 
high  chair ;  I  can  sit  in  another  one." 

To  this  the  sweet  boy  replied  softly,  "  Thank  you, 
Frederic."  After  seeing  his  son  seated  at  the  table  with 
a  bowl  of  boiled  milk  before  him  Mr.  Bentley  left,  as  he 
said  his  wife  was  waiting  breakfast  for  him.  Before  he 
went  he  whispered  to  Melville  to  be  a  very  good  boy. 

My  husband  and  I  were  quite  amused  at  the  surprise 
of  the  little  fellow  at  Master  Frederic's  appetite.  He 
had  been  running  on  the  side-walk,  trundling  his  hoop, 
for  nearly  an  hour,  beside  going  to  the  grocery  for  the 


392  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  | 

cook  ;  and  after  a  blessing  had  been  implored,  he  put  the 
bowl  to  his  mouth,  and  did  not  stop  until  he  had  drained 
it,  and  then  he  held  it  out  for  more.  Helen  and  Fan- 
ny crumbed  their  bread  into  the  milk,  and  ate  with 
an  equally  voracious  appetite,  while  Melville  played  with 
his  spoon,  occasionally  sipping  a  few  drops  of  the  milk 
or  eating  a  small  piece  of  bread. 

"  Don't  you  like  your  breakfast,  my  dear?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  an't  hungry,  ma'am,"  he  replied  in  a  whisper ;  "  but 
I'll  eat  it,  if  you  will  please  to  put  in  some  sugar." 

"  Sugar  in  bread  and  milk ! "  shouted  Frederic  ;  "  I 
never  heard  of  such  a  thing,"  while  the  twins  stopped 
eating  to  see  if  he  were  in  earnest. 

"  I  would  n't  try  to  eat  it  if  you  are  not  hungry ;  you 
can  wait  until  dinner,"  I  replied ;  though  the  children 
stared  wildly  at  my  treatment  of  an  invited  guest. 

After  prayers,  Frederic  took  his  little  friend  to  his 
play-room,  after  a  caution  from  me  to  be  very  gentle 
with  him. 

"  I  '11  take  good  care  of  him,  mamma,"  was  the  quick 
reply.  The  twins  accompanied  me  to  the  nursery  to 
play  with  Laura,  while  she  took  her  bath ;  a  pleasure 
they  would  not  willingly  lose,  and  which  they  often  say 
is  the  pleasantest  part  of  the  play.  After  this,  they  read 
to  aunt  Hammond  for  half  an  hour,  until  school  time. 

When  they  started  for  school,  I  am  ashamed  to  say 
that  I  slipped  a  cracker  into  the  hand  of  Melville,  as  he 
had  hardly  tasted  his  breakfast,  and  looked  so  delicate  I 
was  really  afraid  he  would  faint. 

"  I  don't  like  cracker,  ma'am,"  he  replied,  gazing  sadly 
in  my  face.  After  they  had  left  the  house  Fanny  ran 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  393 

back,  and,  in  a  whisper,  asked  me  if  she  might  go  to  the 
cook  for  a  piece  of  cake,  Melville  was  hungry. 

"  No,  my  dear  ;  he  is  not  well,  and  cannot  have  cake." 
I  had  no  idea  so  simple  a  refusal  could  cause  me  so 
much  pain.  I  followed  them  to  the  door,  when  Fanny 
ran  toward  him,  and  I  saw  him  put  out  his  hand,  not 
imagining  he  could  be  refused.  His  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  and  his  lip  quivered,  but  he  said  nothing.  "  Frede- 
ric," I  called  out,  "  take  good  care  of  Melville,  and  don't 
let  the  scholars  trouble  him.  If  he  is  not  contented,  you 
may  ask  the  teacher  to  excuse  you  while  you  come 
home  with  him." 

When  they  were  out  of  sight,  his  mother  rang  at  the 
door  to  tell  me  that  she  was  going  out  of  town  for  the 
day,  so  that  if  her  little  boy  were  homesick  and  called 
for  her,  I  could  say  she  was  not  at  home.  I  told  her  1 
was  glad  of  this,  for  I  had  anticipated  some  trouble  in 
that  way.  They  had  not  been  gone  more  than  an  hour 
when  I  heard  Frederic's  voice  in  the  entry,  and  he  soon 
came  to  the  nursery,  leading  his  companion. 

"  I  want  to  see  my  mother,"  said  the  child,  bursting 
into  tears. 

The  remainder  of  the  forenoon,  I  was  obliged  to  de- 
vote myself  wholly  to  the  little  fellow.  I  gave  him  a 
pair  of  reins,  and  I  was  the  horse  and  ran  round  the 
room,  and  when  he  was  tired  I  held  him  in  my  lap  and 
showed  him  pictures,  explaining  them  in  almost  the 
same  language  that  I  should  to  my  little  Laura.  I  was 
really  glad  when  the  children  returned  from  school  to 
relieve  me.  As  the  child  had  yet  eaten  nothing,  Hooked 
forward  to  dinner  with  some  little  anxiety.  As  usual, 


394  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

Frederic's  first  question  was,  "  Is  not  dinner  most  ready, 
mamma?  I'm  so  hungry!"  I  assured  him  it  would 
soon  be  brought  upon  the  table. 

Mr.  Wells  cut  a  nice  piece  of  tender  meat  for  our 
young  guest,  and  with  it  passed  him  vegetables  and 
bread  ;  but  they  shared  a  similar  fate  to  the  milk  in  the 
morning.  His  stomach  seemed  to  turn  from  them  in 
disgust.  I  began  to  fear  I  had  promised  more  than  I 
could  perform,  and  that  medicine  would  be  necessary  for 
the  child.  To  the  astonishment  of  the  children  there 
was  no  dessert,  as  I  had  purposely  omitted  it  on  Mel- 
ville's account.  Not  that  they  wished  any ;  but  they 
thought  I  treated  their  company  strangely. 

In  the  afternoon  he  wished  to  accompany  the  children 
to  school  again,  and  I  wrote  a  note  to  the  teacher  stating 
the  circumstances,  and  that  his  parents  hoped  he  would 
be  contented  to  go  regularly.  He  carried  Helen's  new 
porcelain  slate,  to  amuse  himself  while  they  were  re- 
citing ;  and  I  gave  her  a  cracker  for  him,  at  recess,  if  he 
wished  it. 

I  was  so  busy  this  afternoon,  I  was  not  aware  it  was 
time  for  school  to  be  dismissed  until  I  heard  the  twins 
crying  at  the  door.  This  was  so  unusual  a  circumstance 
that  I  ran  hastily  down  stairs  to  inquire  the  cause,  when 
I  was  really  frightened  at  the  sight  before  me.  Helen 
was  leading  her  brother  into  the  house,  Fanny  held  Mel- 
ville by  the  hand,  while  great  tears  were  running  down 
his  cheeks. 

Frederic  was  wiping  the  blood  from  his  nose,  and 
there  was  a  swelling  on  his  forehead  nearly  the  size  of  a 


OR,  THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  395 

small  egg.  His  face  was  flushed,  and  he  was  evidently 
under  the  influence  of  some  strong  excitement. 

"  Oh,  mamma  ! "  the  little  girls  exclaimed  ;  "  a  great 
boy  has  been  fighting  brother,  and  has  hurt  him  dread- 
fully." 

Their  father  came  from  the  study,  and  seeing  how 
much  excited  they  all  were,  requested  them  to  wait 
until  he  had  attended  to  Frederic's  head,  when  he  would 
be  glad  to  hear  the  whole  account. 

It  seems  that  on  their  way  home  from  school  a  boy, 
considerably  larger  than  either  of  them,  began  to  use 
insulting  language,  saying  to  Melville,  "  Ho,  little  chalk- 
face,"  and  uttering  other  words  of  the  same  kind. 

"  Don't  you  say  that  again  !  "  replied  Frederic,  angrily. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  the  quarrel.  The  boy, 
finding  it  annoyed  him,  taunted  him  with  not  daring 
to  fight. 

"  I  don't  want  to  fight  you,"  said  Frederic,  "for  you're 
a  bad  and  dirty  boy,  and  my  father  don't  let  me  associate 
with  such  boys;  but  if  you  call  Melville  any  more 
names  I  '11  whip  you." 

"  Will !  hey?  "  sneered  the  boy  ;  "  I  should  like  to  see 
you ! "  and  he  stepped  up  to  Melville,  and  pulled  his 
long  ringlets  so  as  to  make  him  scream.  "  There,  cry- 
baby !  "  said  he,  "  go  home,  and  tell  your  ma ! " 

This  was  more  than  Frederic  could  endure  ;  he  had 
promised  to  take  good  care  of  the  child,  who  clung  to 
him  like  a  helpless  girl ;  and  he  flew  at  the  boy,  and  dealt 
him  a  violent  blow  with  his  fist. 

But  the  boy  was  an  old  hand  at  the  business ;  and 
the  pain  making  him  furious,  he  returned  the  blow  so 


396  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND     MARRIAGES  J 

rudely  that  it  completely  stunned  Frederic.  The  other 
was  just  going  to  run  off,  when  a  police  officer  caught 
him  and  walked  off  with  him  to  the  station-house,  say- 
ing :  "  I  have  had  trouble  enough  with  your  brawls ! " 

Though  the  pain  in  his  head  must  have  been  severe, 
yet  Frederic  was  too  proud  to  complain,  and  bore  it  with 
the  fortitude  of  a  martyr,  while  his  sisters  hovered  around 
him,  and  waited  upon  Mm  as  if  he  had  been  a  prince. 
He  lay  on  the  sofa  with  a  bandage  of  cold  water  on  his 
forehead  while  we  were  at  the  table  which,  in  spite  of 
his  tears  in  the  afternoon  proved  to  Melville  at  least  a 
hearty  meal.  He  even  held  out  his  bowl  with  the  little 
girls  a  second  time,  and  when  I  smilingly  replied  to  his 
request,  he  said  softly,  "  I  like  milk  now."  How  I  wished 
his  mother  could  have  seen  and  heard  him. 

"  You  will  come  again  to-morrow  and  get  more,  won't 
you,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  I'll  come  every  day." 

Father,  mother  and  Gracie  have  been  with  us  nearly 
a  week.  Edward  was  here  until  yesterday,  when  he 
entered  upon  his  duties  as  book-keeper  in  brother's  store. 
We  are  all  much  pleased  with  the  plan,  and  are  very 
hopeful  of  his  success.  In  person,  Edward  resembles 
father  much  more  than  either  of  his  children.  I  hope 
he  may  also  be  like  him  in  character.  A  great  in- 
timacy has  sprung  up  between  Helen  Russel  and  sister 
Gracie.  I  think  they  will  find  much  pleasure  in  each 
other's  society.  Laura  has  proved  herself  a  kind  and 
generous  sister,  as  well  as  a  dutiful  daughter.  She  con- 
sulted me  in  private  about  Gracie's  wardrobe  which  she 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  397 

thinks  hardly  suitable  for  the  city,  though  very  proper  for 
a  country  girl,  and  asked  as  a  favor  if  she  might  pur- 
chase some  articles  for  her.  I  told  her  I  presumed 
sister  would  gratefully  receive  any  little  articles,  but  as 
she  would  remain  so  short  a  time  it  would  not  be 
desirable  to  obtain  many. 

"  But,"  urged  Laura,  archly,  "  I  have  almost  obtained  a 
promise  from  mother  to  let  her  remain  with  me  for  some 
months.  It  will  be  so  desirable  for  Edward,  you  know, 
to  have  her  here  to  go  out  with  him.  There  is  no  influ- 
ence more  salutary  for  a  young  man  than  that  of  a 
sister,  and  then  Helen  would  be  so  pleased." 

We  agreed  to  leave  the  subject  to  mother,  and  Laura, 
sitting  on  a  taboret  at  her  feet,  made  known  her  wishes 
in  such  a  delicate  manner  that  mother  really  felt  that  she 
was  granting  a  favor  when  she  gave  the  whole  care  and 
fashioning  of  sister's  wardrobe  into  her  hands  with  an 
understanding  that  for  Edward's  sake  she  would  try  to 
obtain  father's  consent  to  let  her  stay  and  make  a  long 
visit.  "  Ah  !  "  said  I,  "  for  Edward's  sake  you  will  even 
give  up  your  baby." 

"  Susan,"  resumed  Laura,  "  has  already  so  many  cares, 
that  I  shall  be  happy  in  this  way  to  relieve  her,  and  I 
really  shall  be  glad  of  something  to  do." 

"  Dear  girl !  she  is  never  idle  a  moment.  There  are 
several  by-lanes  where  she  goes  weekly,  and  distributes 
bounty.  And  others  come  regularly  to  her  house,  for 
whom  she  is  always  at  work.  Little  dresses,  aprons  and 
stockings,  are  made  there,  by  the  dozens.  No  longer  ago 
than  last  week  I  found  little  Mary  trying  to  sew  upon  an 
34 


398  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ] 

apron  which  she  informed  me  in  a  whisper  was  for  "  one 
of  mamma's  poor  little  girls." 

I  am  happy  to  see  that  Mrs.  Bentley  appreciated 
Laura's  lovely  Christian  character.  During  the  week  that 
Melville  passed  with  me,  she  spent  much  time  in  my 
nursery,  trying  as  she  said  to  learn  something  of  my 
way  of  managing.  She  remarked  that  her  husband 
would  give  half  he  was  worth  if  he  could  find  a  boy  like 
our  Frederic  whom  he  could  adopt  as  a  companion  to 
his  son. 

Frederic's  courage  in  defence  of  his  little  companion 
has  rendered  him  quite  a  hero  with  his  partial  friends. 
Mrs.  Bentley  repeated  her  husband's  remark  that  he  had 
read  of  such  boys,  but  was  not  aware  that  they  existed 
in  these  days.  I  told  her  Frederic  had  caused  me  more 
anxiety  than  all  my  other  children,  and  I  repeated  the 
scene  which  took  place  with  his  father  soon  after  my 
marriage,  and  which  has  resulted  in  great  good  to  the 
boy.  She  said  the  more  we  could  allow  him  to  be  with 
Melville  the  more  grateful  they  should  be,  and  that  his 
father  hoped  much  from  the  influence  of  a  bright,  intelli- 
gent boy  to  rouse  his  ambition. 

"  I  think,"  said  I,  "  the  salutary  effect  will  be  mutual ; 
Melville  is  obliging,  kind  and  truthful,  and  I  hope  Frede- 
ric may  imitate  him  in  those  respects." 

By  firmness,  and  some  little  help  from  the  children  to 
whom  I  explained  my  project,  I  was  enabled  to  perform 
my  promise  to  Mr.  Bentley,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of 
inviting  him  and  his  wife  to  tea  with  their  son  on  the 
last  evening  of  his  stay  ;  and  to  witness  their  surprise  at 
my  success.  To  be  sure,  it  will  as  I  told  them  be  a 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  ^99 

long  time  before  they  can  conquer  his  appetite  for 
sweets ;  but  when  they  saw  how  heartily  he  ate  his 
bread  and  drank  his  milk  they  were  encouraged  to  perse- 
vere. I  was  quite  amused  the  next  day  as  we  sat  at 
dinner  at  a  message  from  Mrs.  Bentley,  whether  we 
allowed  Melville  vegetables  with  his  meat,  or  only  bread. 
I  sent  word  that  he  was  to  have  as  many  vegetables  as 
he  wished,  but  at  present  no  rich  puddings  or  pastry. 
My  husband  pleasantly  suggested  my  setting  up  an  in- 
firmary for  feeble  children  as  I  had  been  so  successful  in 
my  first  attempt,  which  I  told  him  I  should  like  to  do  if 
I  could  command  the  time. 

As  father  will  preach  for  my  husband  next  Sabbath, 
we  have  been  able  to  accompany  our  friend  to  many 
places  of  interest  which  otherwise  we  should  have  had 
to  postpone,  as  at  this  time  Thomas  is  unusually  occu- 
pied with  business.  Indeed,  I  often  wonder  how  he 
accomplishes  so  much.  He  has  the  whole  care  of 
Laura's  property,  besides  his  appropriate  duties  in  the 
firm.  Then  he  is  on  a  great  many  committees  for  be- 
nevolent objects,  which  consume  some  time  and  a  good 
share  of  Laura's  ready  money.  Mrs.  Wells  made  the 
remark  to  father  that  perhaps  brother  was  in  a  situation 
to  do  as  much  good  as  if  he  were  a  clergyman. 

As  the  children  were  returning  from  the  park  to-day 
with  Nora  and  Melville,  an  incident  occurred  which  led 
to  a  recognition  that  has  given  us  much  pleasure. 
Nora  was  drawing  the  baby  in  the  wagon,  while  the 
little  girls  walked  by  her  side.  Frederic  and  his  dog 
were  as  usual  running  this  way,  sometimes  in  advance 


400  THE    FIRST    AND    THE     SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

of  them  and  sometimes  in  the  rear.  Fanny  was  for  a 
moment  walking  backward,  while  she  talked  to  baby, 
when  she  stumbled  at  a  crossing  and  fell.  A  youth  who 
was  passing,  stepped  forward  hastily,  assisted  her  to  rise, 
and  with  his  handkerchief  wiped  the  dirt  from  her  arm, 
where  she  had  grazed  the  skin.  Frederic  soon  ran  up 
and  the  young  man  asked  him  his  name.  "  Frederic 
Gordon,  sir,"  he  replied  frankly,  and  these  are  my  sisters. 

"  My  name  is  Gordon,  too,"  said  the  youth,  "  Charles 
Gordon." 

"  That  was  my  father's  name,"  the  children  exclaimed. 

"  Where  did  he  live?"  he  inquired  earnestly  of  Nora. 

"  He  was  a  minister  in  B ,  sir ;  and  one  of  the 

best  men  the  sun  ever  shone  on." 

"  Then  you  are  my  cousins,"  he  responded,  and  he  pro- 
mised to  call  and  see  them  after  tea. 

This  evening  he  called,  and  we  were  all  delighted  with 
him.  He  is  the  son  of  my  dear  husband's  elder  brother, 
living  in  New  Jersey,  and  has  been  in  a  book-store  in  the 
city,  for  nearly  four  months.  He  knew  that  his  uncle's 
family  resided  in  New  York,  but  was  diffident  about  pre- 
senting himself  to  our  notice.  There  is  really  a  striking 
likeness  between  him  and  his  cousin  Frederic,  —  the 
same  large,  full  black  eyes  and  red  lips.  The  children 
as  well  as  their  mother,  are  much  pleased  at  the  new 
cousin.  I  did  not  ask  his  age,  but  should  judge  him  to 
be  about  eighteen.  We  invited  him  to  come  and  see  us 
very  often,  which  he  says  he  shall  be  glad  to  do,  as  he 
has  formed  no  acquaintances  in  the  city.  I  think  from 
what  he  said,  and  did  not  say,  that  he  has  been  home- 
sick. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OP    WEDDED    LIFE.  401 

Since  our  first  introduction  to  our  new  cousin  some 
months  ago,  we  have  seen  much  of  him.  My  husband 
appears  really  attached  to  the  young  man,  and  often 
speaks  to  him  freely,  and  in  the  highest  terms  of  his 
uncle.  A  few  days  since  I  heard  the  bell  ring,  and  Nora 
waited  upon  some  one  into  the  parlor.  In  one  moment 
there  was  a  knock  at  the  nursery  door,  and  Charles  asked 
in  a  low  voice,  "  aunt  Susan,  may  I  come  in  ? " 

"  My  father  is  down  stairs,"  he  exclaimed  joyfully, 
"  and  wishes  to  thank  you  personally  for  all  your  kind- 
ness to  me.  Will  you  come  down  ?  Let  me  show  him 
the  baby,  too,"  and  he  caught  her  up  from  the  floor. 

I  smiled  at  his  impetuosity.  His  face  was  flushed  and 
his  eyes  sparkling  with  pleasure.  "  How  much  he  is 
like  Frederic,"  I  thought,  as  I  turned  to  the  mirror  to 
smooth  my  hair,  and  add  a  worked  collar  to  my  simple 
toilet. 

"  Don't  stop  to  dress,  aunty,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "  you 
look  handsome  enough.  Father  knows  all  about  you ; " 
and  I  soon  found  that  from  some  source,  he  had  heard 
what  prepared  him  to  receive  with  open  arms,  the  widow 
of  his  deceased  brother,  though  now  again  a  wife.  I  was 
actually  startled  by  the  resemblance  to  my  dear  lamented 
husband.  It  seemed  to  bring  him  right  before  me.  I 
don't  know  what  he  thought  of  me,  for  as  soon  as  he 
had  released  my  hand?  from  his  cordial  grasp,  I  burst 
into  tears.  He  held  out  his  hands  to  Laura,  who  went 
to  him  willingly,  and  walked  to  the  window  to  give  me 
time  to  recover  myself. 

Mr.  Wells  now  came  in,  and  Charles  introduced  him. 
Mr.  Gordon's  voice,  and  almost  every  motion  is  like  his 
34* 


402  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

brother's;  —  the  same  precision  which  was  so  obvious 
to  me  at  first,  but  which  I  so  soon  ceased  to  notice,  and 
also  the  same  warm  impulsive  heart.  Henry  insisted 
upon  sending  for  his  baggage,  and  that  he  should  make 
his  home  with  us  while  in  the  city.  He  also  told 
Charles,  he  must  be  here  as  much  of  the  time  as  he 
could  be  spared  from  his  store.  I  have  heard  from  my 
brother-in-law  in  the  course  of  two  days,  more  of  my  de- 
ceased husband's  early  life,  than  all  I  knew  before. 
Every  day  he  says  Frederic  reminds  him  of  his  father 
when  he  was  a  boy.  I  was  astonished  to  learn  that  in 
youth  he  was  very  passionate ;  but  governed  by  a  high 
sense  of  honor,  and  as  he  grew  older,  religion  restrained 
and  guided  this  warm  temperament,  until  he  arrived  at 
the  perfect  equanimity  of  temper,  which  he  possessed 
when  I  knew  him. 

Mr.  Gordon  leaves  us  the  first  of  the  week.  We  shall 
all  deeply  regret  his  departure.  The  little  twins  espe- 
cially are  exceedingly  fond  of  their  uncle,  who  with  the 
exception  of  his  son,  is  the  first  relative  on  their  father's 
side,  whom  they  have  ever  seen.  Mr.  Gordon  expresses 
in  the  most  grateful  terms  his  appreciation  of  our  kind- 
ness to  his  boy.  He  says  it  was  with  great  reluctance 
that  he  and  his  wife  consented  to  the  wish  of  Charles,  to 
come  to  New  York,  and  live  alone  amid  so  many  temp- 
tations and  exposures ;  but  that  he  has  become  so  much 
attached  to  uncle  Henry  and  his  family,  that  he  seems  to 
have  no  desire  to  go  elsewhere. 

My  heart  swelled  with  pleasure,  as  I  thought  that  per- 
haps I  and  my  dear  Henry  had  been  the  means  of  sav- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  403 

ing  this  beloved  relative  from  the  seductions  of  vice  which 
are  of  so  varied,  and  specious  a  character  in  this  great 
city. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

HOME  AMUSEMENTS. 

WE  must  now  pass  over  a  period  of  ten  years,  and 
once  more  visit  the  family  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Wells.  One 
place  at  the  hospitable  board  had  been  vacated.  Mrs. 
Hammond  for  more  than  four  years  has  been,  as  her 
bereaved  friends  humbly  hope,  in  the  immediate  presence 
of  her  Saviour.  Time  has  passed  lightly  over  the  good 
clergyman  and  his  wife.  To  be  sure,  she  every  now  and 
then  reminds  him  of  the  few  gray  hairs  which  in  her 
opinion  are  helping  to  form  his  "  crown  of  glory ; "  but 
his  eye  is  still  bright,  his  step  firm  and  elastic. 

It  is  now  the  season  of  the  Christmas  holidays,  and 
the  family  have  gathered  together  to  celebrate  them. 
*  The  twin  sisters  have  returned  from  a  long  visit  to  their 
uncle  Gordon,  and  with  their  cousin  Charles  who  went 
to  accompany  them  home,  are  now  seated  at  the  break- 
fast table.  Next  him  is  a  handsome  youth  in  whom 
were  it  not  for  his  flashing  eye  it  would  be  difficult  to 
recognize  Master  Frederic  Gordon,  now  a  Sophomore 
in  Yale  College.  Laura,  whom  we  left  in  the  arms  of 
the  faithful  Nora,  is  a  tall,  graceful  girl  of  twelve,  but 
her  place  in  the  nursery  has  been  since  occupied  by  a 
lad  who  answers  to  the  address  of  Henry  Cyrus  Wells, 
being  named  for  his  father  and  grandfather.  Master 

(404) 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  40* 

Henry  is  nine,  and  in  person  bids  fair  to  resemble  his 
father. 

"  Mamma,"  says  the  youth  to  the  fair-faced  matron 
behind  the  urn,  "  We  boys  are  going  to  have  a  grand 
court  this  evening,  .and  Horace  Bentley  wanted  me  to 
ask  you  whether  we  should  have  it  here  or  at  his  house. 
Mrs.  Bentley  says  it  must  be  just  as  you  say." 

Mrs.  Wells  turned  to  her  daughter  before  she  replied, 
and  asked :  "  Did  you  engage  to  go  to  your  uncle  Ed- 
ward's this  evening  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  replied  Helen ;  "  aunt  Ada  has  in- 
vited a  number  of  young  people  to  meet  us  there. 
Henry,"  she  continued,  eagerly,  "  if  you  will  have  it 
this  afternoon,  I  will  help  you  dress." 

"  And  I  '11  be  the  attorney,"  added  Frederic,  laughing. 
"  Oh  what  fun  I  used  to  have !  If  you  are  willing, 
mother,  I  '11  invite  Albert  and  Melville  just  for  the  joke 
of  it.  It  will  carry  us  back  so  to  old  times." 

"  Very  well,  my  son,  only  in  that  case  you  must  defer 
it  until  to-morrow  evening." 

"  Cousin  Charles,"  exclaimed  Helen,  "  would  make 
the  best  judge ;  he  can  put  on  such  a  solemn  air ! " 

"  I  hope  you  don't  mean  to  insinuate  that  it  is  only 
4  put  on,' "  responded  Mr.  Gordon,  with  an  arch  smile. 

"  Oh,  no,  we  acknowledge  that  you  are  a  model  of 
propriety  ;  at  least  Fanny  does  ! "  At  this  remark,  both 
the  gentleman  and  the  lady  referred  to  assumed  a  really 
serious  expression,  and  Mrs.  Wells  cast  a  quick  and 
anxious  glance  at  her  husband. 

"  What  shall  I  be  ?  "  asked  Laura. 

"  You  shall  be  your  own  dear  self,"  replied  Frederic, 


406  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

tapping  the  cheek  of  his  favorite  sister ;  "  and  you  may 
assume  for  the  occasion  the  character  of  a  witness. 
Let  me  think,  —  father,  what  would  be  a  good  crime  ?  " 

A  roguish  smile  played  around  the  mouth  of  Dr. 
Wells  as  he  answered,  "  I  have  never  heard  of  a  good 
crime,  my  son." 

A  flush  passed  over  the  countenance  of  the  Sopho- 
more as  he  said  :  "  I  meant  one  which  would  be  simple 
enough  for  the  children  to  understand,  for  I  remember 
you  always  explained  every  part  to  us  so  accurately  that 
we  were  able  to  get  great  profit  as  well  as  amusement 
from  our  games." 

"  Let  us  take  a  case  of  defamation  or  of  theft,"  suggested 
cousin  Charles,  "  like  the  one  which  has  of  late  so  occu- 
pied the  public  mind.  The  full  reports  in  the  papers  will 
give  us  great  assistance." 

This  was  at  length  decided  upon  ;  and  Frederic  con- 
sented to  his  brother's  wish  that  he  would  arrange 
the  parts  and  write  out  what  they  were  to  say.  Dr. 
Wells  had  in  his  library  a  valuable  collection  of  law 
books,  which  were  put  in  requisition  on  this  important 
occasion,  and  the  young  collegian  who  had  entered  into 
the  game  with  his  whole  soul,  soon  found  that  it  was 
no  slight  business,  to  draw  up  the  indictment,  and  write 
out  the  testimony  and  pleas,  especially  as  he  found  the 
spectators  had  increased  from  the  members  of  his  own 
family  to  the  whole  circle  of  their  acquaintance.  It  was 
a  very  fortunate  circumstance  for  the  young  man,  that 
just  at  this  time  his  uncle  Seymour  arrived  in  the  city, 
who,  by  his  knowledge  of  the  detail  of  courts,  soon  put 
all  parts  in  a  right  train. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  407 

Then  the  place  for  the  court  was  changed  from  the 
dining-room  at  Dr.  Wells's  to  the  large  double  parlors 
of  Mr.  Clinton's  mansion,  and  the  time  to  New  Year's 
eve. 

When  the  company  were  deciding  which  of  the 
numerous  invitations  they  had  received  should  be 
accepted  as  to  the  place  of  holding  their  court,  Horace 
excited  a  great  laugh  by  the  remark:  "  Oh,  would 'nt  it 
be  nice  if  we  could  get  leave  to  have  it  in  the  City 
Hall!  The  idea  of  Squire  Seymour  who  had  con- 
sented to  preside  as  Judge  sitting  on  the  bench  upon  the 
elevated  platform,  and  examining  Helen,  Fanny,  Mary 
Warren,  and  Elizabeth  Whitney  as  witnesses,  was 
altogether  too  ludicrous,  and  led  to  many  merry  jokes. 

While  these  preparations  were  going  on,  the  children 
passed  many  pleasant  hours  in  simpler  games.  One 
afternoon'  tickets  were  sent  to  all  the  families  to  whom 
they  were  related  to  a  grand  concert  at  Mr.  Bentley's, 
when  Helen  and  Fanny  played  the  piano  as  the  accom- 
paniment to  the  singing  of  the  tunes  the  young  people 
had  learned  at  school.  The  evening  was  closed  by  a 
simple  entertainment.  On  the  next  evening,  Mr.  Thomas 
Warren's  large  dining-hall  was  fitted  up  as  a  store. 
Here  was  a  desk  behind  which  sat  a  clerk  with  the  cash- 
book,  and  there  a  gentleman,  the  owner  of  the  store,  at 
his  desk  writing  letters,  then  the  clerks  behind  the  coun- 
ters, and  the  little  cash  boys  arid  girls  with  the  constant 
cry  of  "  cash ! "  made  the  scene  a  very  lively  one.  Mrs 
Wells  with  her  sister  Mrs.  Seymour,  Mrs.  Bentley,  and 
Mrs.  Clinton,  with  the  young  wife  of  Mr.  Edward  War- 
ren were  continually  passing  up  and  down  the  hall, 


408  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES, 

purchasing  articles  of  wearing  apparel.  Dr.  Wells 
paused  often  before  a  large  library  where  Mr.  Gordon 
kept  a  book-store ;  but  he  was  principally  engaged  in 
explaining  to  the  children,  for  whose  benefit  and  amuse- 
ment they  had  assembled,  the  nature  and  importance  of 
their  several  posts.  To  Henry  this  was  a  new  era.  His 
father  and  mother  exchanged  glances  of  merriment,  not 
altogether  unmixed  with  anxiety,  as  they  saw  his  cheek 
flush  and  his  brow  knit,  when  his  aunt  Laura  told  him 
pleasantly,  he  had  not  made  the  right  change.  "  The 
shawl,  I  think,  sir,"  she  added,  "  was  $10,  the  gloves 
$2.25,  and  the  thread  9  cents,  I  gave  you  two  bills,  a  ten 

and  a  five ;  and  I  ought  to  have A  quick  glance 

from  his  mother  restrained  her. 

"  How  much,  ma'am,  do  you  want  ? "  asked  the  boy, 
eagerly.  But  the  lady  had  turned  to  speak  with  a  gen- 
tleman behind  her,  and  he  was  reduced  to  the  necessity 
of  counting  upon  his  fingers,  taking  care  to  turn  his  back 
to  the  company. 

That  was  a  lesson  which  Henry  never  forgot.  Arith- 
metic had  been  his  abhorrence ;  but  finding  the  absolute 
necessity  of  knowing  how  to  add  and  subtract,  if  he 
would  be  a  merchant,  he  commenced  the  study  in  ear- 
nest, and  became  in  time  an  accomplished  accountant. 

At  length  the  day  arrived  for  the  sitting  of  "  the  grand 
Jury,"  as  Fanny  Wells  laughingly  called  it.  The  great, 
difficulty  had  been  to  find  persons  who  would  consent  to 
be  indicted.  At  last  Albert  Clinton  consented  to  person- 
ate a  young  clerk,  charged  with  having  purloined  money 
from  the  drawers  of  his  employer ;  and  Mr.  Gordon,  the 
prosecuting  officer. 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  409 

The  argument  of  Fanny  in  persuading  Albert,  prob- 
ably had  some  weight  with  him.  She  said  uncle  Wal- 
ter will  be  sure  to  clear  you,  and  then  you  will  be  quite 
a  hero.  In  his  eagerness  to  please  his  cousin,  Mr.  Gor- 
don quite  lost  sight  of  the  fact,  that  if  the  young  man 
was  discharged,  he  would  not  appear  in  a  very  favorable 
light,  having  brought  a  false  accusation.  Probably  also 
she  forgot  that  circumstance,  or  her  regard  for  the  honor 
of  her  cousin  would  have  induced  her  to  dissuade  him 
from  such  a  part. 

The  trial,  however,  was  conducted  skilfully,  and  when 
the  evidence  was  brought  forward,  so  many  circum- 
stances tended  to  fix  the  guilt  upon  the  prisoner,  that 
Mr.  Gordon's  course  could  not  have  been  considered 
honorable  or  just  to  his  employers,  had  he  not  given  them 
an  intimation  of  what  he  feared  was  true.  In  the  course 
of  the  trial  it  was  proved  that  Mr.  Gordon,  who  was 
book-keeper  and  private  clerk  of  the  firm,  had  at  several 
different  times,  found  that  his  books  did  not  agree,  nor 
his  accounts  balance.  On  going  out  from  the  counting- 
room  late  one  night,  when  all  the  clerks  had  retired,  he 
saw  young  Clinton  standing  before  one  of  the  safes  with 
a  roll  of  bills  in  his  hand.  He  represented  himself  as 
greatly  shocked,  and  that  he  conversed  faithfully  with 
him  upon  the  certain  ruin  which  would  follow  such  a 
course. 

The  young  clerk,  however,  indignantly  repelled  the 
idea  that  he  was  there  for  any  criminal  purpose.  "  Care- 
lessness," he  said,  "  was  all  the  fault  with  which  he  was 
chargeable."  He  then  stated  with  every  appearance  of 
honesty,  that  the  money  he  held  in  his  hand,  was  the 
35 


410  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

amount  of  a  check  from  the  bank  ;  that  when  he  reached 
his  boarding-house,  he  suddenly  remembered  that  he  still 
had  it  in  his  pocket-book,  and  started  to  carry  it  back. 

"  But  surely,"  asked  his  friend,  "  you  could  not  have 
been  detained  by  supper  until  this  late  hour  ? " 

This  question  so  embarrassed  the  young  man,  that 
Mr.  Gordon  at  the  time  was  forced  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  whole  excuse  was  a  fabricated  one. 

Mr.  Thomas  Warren  and  Mr.  Bentley,  who  personated 
the  owners  of  the  store,  were  called  as  witnesses  to  what 
passed  between  them  and  their  private  clerk,  which  in 
brief,  was  the  fact  (stated  with  great  reluctance  by  Mr. 
Gordon,  and  as  he  confessed,  not  until  the  subject  had 
caused  him  many  sleepless  nights,)  that  he  feared  Clin- 
ton was  in  danger,  and  that  it  might  be  well  to  place 
him  in  another  position  in  the  store,  where  he  would  not 
be  subjected  to  so  much  temptation.  This  had  not  been 
done,  however,  without  repeated  conversations  on  Mr. 
Gordon's  part,  with  the  young  man. 

When  the  evidence  for  his  guilt  was  all  in,  the  younger 
part  of  the  audience  forgetting  it  was  a  mock  trial,  began 
to  open  their  eyes  very  wide,  and  to  wonder  what  would 
be  done  to  the  prisoner.  His  little  sister,  Sarah  Wal- 
lace, began  to  cry  from  sympathy  with  the  accused,  until 
her  brother  James  assured  her  that  Albert  was  only  mak- 
ing believe,  and  feigning  to  look  sober. 

'Frederic  Gordon  now  called  in  witnesses  for  his  own 
defence.  First,  Horace  Bentley,  the  teller  at  the  bank, 
stated  that  the  prisoner  brought  a  check,  as  he  was 
almost  daily  in  the  habit  of  doing,  —  that  after  glancing 
at  it,  he  cashed  it  at  once.  There  was  nothing  at  ah1 


OR,  THE    COURTESIES    OP    WEDDED  LIFE.  411 

peculiar  in  his  appearance,  nothing  like  a  consciousness 
of  guilt. 

The  next  witness  was  Fanny  Wells,  who  in  her  moth- 
er's morning  cap,  personated  the  matron  with  whom  the 
prisoner  boarded.  Notwithstanding  the  serious  nature 
of  her  testimony,  her  appearance  as  she  blushingly  took 
her  place  upon  the  stand,  was  greeted  with  a  perfect 
shout  of  merriment. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  asked  the  attorney. 

"  Mrs.  Gordon." 

Poor  Fanny !  She  had  only  intended  to  say  Mrs.  in- 
stead of  Miss,  because  she  thought  it  would  not  be  pro- 
per for  Miss  Gordon  to  keep  a  boarding-house  for  young 
men ;  but  the  instant  she  had  spoken,  another  shout  ac- 
companied by  an  arch  glance  from  her  brother  at  Mr. 
Gordon,  quite  discomposed  her,  but  in  one  moment  she 
added,  "  Mrs.  Gordon  Holmes,  at  your  service." 

"  State  what  you  know  in  regard  to  the  prisoner." 

"  Your  reverence  will  understand  that  I  keep  boarders, 
and  this  young  man  among  the  number.  He  is  the  like- 
liest youth  I  am  acquainted  with,  my  husband  always 
excepted.  One  night  he  came  home  as  usual  to  tea,  I 
passed  him  his  cup,  but  he  had  scarcely  tasted  it,  when 
he  exclaimed,  'there  now!'  and  clapped  his  hand  on  his 
coat-pocket.  '  Mrs.  Gordon  Holmes,'  said  he,  '  I  must  ask 
to  be  excused,  I  have  forgotten  some  money  I  ought  to 
have  left  in  the  safe;  I  must  go  back  at  once,  or  the  store 
will  be  locked.' " 

"  I  urged  him  to  finish  his  supper ;  but  he  said  '  no,' 
and  hastily  drinking  his  tea,  he  left  the  table." 


412  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

"  Your  testimony  is  very  much  to  the  point,  Mrs.  Gor- 
don Holmes,"  said  Squire  Seymour,  archly. 

Next  came  Laura  Wells,  who  testified  that  she  had 
met  Mr.  Clinton  walking  hastily  to  the  store,  that  she 
told  him  her  sister  wished  to  see  him,  and  urged  him  to 
go  with  her  at  once  if  only  for  a  few  moments.  He  ob- 
jected on  account  of  haste ;  but  she  replied  that  Mary 
would  detain  him  but  a  short  time.  • 

Mary  Warren  was  called,  and  with  a  very  rosy  face, 
confessed  that  she  was  engaged  to  be  married  to  Mr. 
Clinton ;  that  she  had  received  some  important  news  re- 
lative to  their  future  prospects,  and  was  much  pleased 
when  he  accompanied  her  sister  home.  He  stated  on 
entering  the  room,  that  he  could  stop  but  one  moment, 
"  but,"  she  added,  with  a  very  natural  hesitation  of  man- 
ner, "  we  soon  became  interested  in  reading  the  letter, 
and  didn't  know  how  the  time  was  passing  away. 
When  he  found  how  late  it  was,  he  started  up,  saying, 
*  Oh !  I  can't  return  this  to  the  safe  to-night,  I'm  sorry  I 
stopped  so  long.' " 

Helen  Wells  testified  that  she  was  the  mother  of  Mary 
Warren,  that  the  next  evening  he  called  and  requested 
to  see  her  alone,  when  he  confided  to  her  his  trouble,  and 
the  charge  of  Mr.  Gordon.  "  I  felt  worse,"  he  added,  "  to 
have  him  suspect  me,  than  to  have  any  one  else  in  the 
store,  for  he  is  the  best  friend  I  have."  "  But  I  told  him," 
she  said,  "  to  go  on  as  if  nothing  of  the  kind  had  occurred, 
and  assured  him  that  we  had  entire  confidence  in  him." 

After  the  closing  speech  by  the  lawyer,  and  a  charge 
to  the  Jury,  by  Squire  Seymour,  the  jurors  retired,  and 
shortly  brought  in  a  verdict  of  "  not  guilty" 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  413 

The  merry  shout  of  the  children  at  this  joyful  issue 
.  was  responded  to  more  quietly  by  the  parents,  who 
hoped  much  profit  as  well  as  amusement  might  be  de- 
rived from  the  exercise.  "  I  am  glad  he  did  n't  take  it ; " 
"  I  never  would  steal  money ; "  "I  would  have  acted  just 
as  he  did ; "  and  many  other  remarks  from  the  children 
proved  that  the  scene  had  made  a  deep  impression  upon 
their  tender  minds. 

Mr.  Bentley  touched  the  arm  of  his  pastor  to  draw  his 
attention  to  what  Horace  was  saying :  "  If  Mark  An- 
drews or  Joseph  Woodward  laugh  at  me  again,  because 
my  father  don't  allow  me  to  go  to  the  theatre,  I  '11  tell 
them  I  don't  want  to  go.  We  have  a  great  deal  better 
fun  at  home,  and  our  fathers  explain  it  all  to  us  so  we 
can  learn  ever  so  much  by  it. 

"  Joseph  himself  confessed  that  half  the  time  he  didn't 
know  the  meaning  of  what  the  actors  said.  He  liked 
to  go  and  see  the  crowds  of  people  and  hear  the  shout- 
ing, but  he  was  always  glad  when  it  was  done,  because 
his  father  let  him  go  with  him  into  the  saloon  and  eat 
oysters  and  drink  wine.  Sometimes,  he  says,  he 
stays  there  a  whole  hour,  and  calls  for  whatever  he 
wants,  while  his  father  goes  off  with  people  that  he  is 
acquainted  with.  But  he  never  does  so  when  his  mother 
is  with  them,  because  she  always  goes  right  home." 

Dr.  Wells  sighed  as  he  listened  to  the  animated 
speaker,  and  thought  of  the  probable  fate  of  such  a 
lad.  When  the  boys  had  turned  away  unconscious 
that  they  had  been  heard,  he  said  :  "  We  certainly,  my 
dear  sir,  have  encouragement  to  persevere." 

"  Encouragement !  "  repeated   Mr.  Bentley ;   "  there  is 


414  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

not  a  day  that  I  do  not  bless  God  that  I  learned  the 
importance  of  parents  interesting  their  own  children, 
and  providing  them  suitable  amusements  before  it  is  too 
late ;  before  their  young  minds  become  corrupted  by  such 
scenes  as  those  to  which  my  son  just  referred.  It  is  to 
you,  sir,  under  God,  and  to  my  good  friend  Mr.  Warren, 
that  I  am  indebted  for  the  hopeful  character  of  my 
boys." 

Mr.  Clinton  and  Mr.  Warren  now  joined  the  group, 
and  Mr.  Bentley  repeated  the  remarks  of  his  son. 

"  I  often  think  of  it,"  suggested  Mr.  Clinton,  — "  we 
live  in  the  very  midst  of  temptation  to  vice  of  all  kinds. 
Some  of  us,  at  least,  have  children  old  enough  to  be 
carried  into  the  whirlpool  of  dissipation  which  is  de- 
stroying so  many  of  our  most  promising  youth  ;  and  yet 
ours  have  as  yet  manifested  no  disposition  to  engage  in 
these  forbidden  amusements  and  pleasures.  I  am  often 
asked  by  fathers,  'what  is  the  secret  of  our  manage- 
ment ? '  and  I  invariably  reply  :  *  It  is  very  simple  ;  our 
aim  is  to  render  home  so  agreeable  that  our  sons  and 
daughters  may  find  their  enjoyment  here.' " 

«  Do  you  remember,  Mr.  Bentley  ?  "  asked  Mr.  War- 
ren  pleasantly,  "  the  game  of  blind-man's  buff  we  played 
in  these  parlors  near  a  dozen  years  ago." 

"  I  shall  never  forget  it,  neither  will  my  wife ;  for  that 
occasion,  together  with  the  sentiment  of  our  good  pas- 
tor, threw  a  world  of  light  upon  my  path.  Yes,"  he 
continued,  thoughtfully,  "he  said:  'Make  much  of 
family  entertainments  and  amusements  ;  those  in  which 
parents  and  children  can  mingle;  associate  them  as 
much  as  possible  with  home  and  the  home  circle,  and 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  415 

you  save  them  from  the  least  desire  to  go  abroad  in 
search  of  pleasure.  Then  let  religion  be  the  ruling  prin- 
ciple to  refine  and  purify  these  joys,  and  there  will  be 
but  little  danger  to  their  morals ;  we  have  the  divine 
promise,  'train  up  a  child  in  the  way  he  should  go,  and 
when  he  is  old  he  will  not  depart  from  it.' " 

"  I  should  be  encouraged  to  hope  that  my  preaching 
would  do  great  good,"  replied  the  Doctor,  "  if  I  thought 
my  hearers  remembered  it,  and  practised  upon  it  as  well 
as  you  have  done." 

"  Well,  sir,"  resumed  Mr.  Bentley,  "  my  wife  will  say 
as  I  do,  that  not  only  with  regard  to  our  children,  but  in 
our  views  of  the  matrimonial  relation  these  simple 
remarks  have  been  as  it  were  our  text-book,  to  which 
we  have  referred  in  every  doubtful  case.  I  should  rejoice 
to  see  it  adopted,  as  such,  in  every  family  in  our  city." 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

"  MARRYING  AND  GIVING  IN  MARRIAGE." 

IT  was  a  calm  and  quiet  evening  in  June,  three  years 
later,  that  the  family  of  Dr.  Wells  were  assembled  in  the 
spacious  front  chamber  of  his  father's  mansion  in  C. 
The  white-haired  grandfather  was  seated  in  a  large  arm- 
chair, and  his  faithful  companion  by  his  side.  Upon  a  low 
couch  which  was  drawn  toward  the  window  lay  a  young 
girl,  in  whose  transparent  fairness  of  complexion,  and 
the  attenuation  of  her  form  it  was  easy  to  perceive 
the  ravages  of  disease.  But  there  was  a  calm  con- 
tentment beaming  from  her  eye  which,  as  well  as  the 
hushed  but  eager  look  of  expectation  on  the  coun- 
tenances of  all  present  betokened  the  anticipation  of 
some  interesting  event. 

Leaving  Fanny  Wells,  for  it  was  she,  reclining  on  the 
breast  of  her  mother  while  her  twin-sister  passed  her 
hand  caressingly  over  her  full,  white  brow,  we  will  take 
the  liberty  to  go  back  a  year,  and  explain  the  event  to 
which  they  were  looking  forward. 

When  Mr.  Charles  Gordon  had  been  established  in 
business  about  two  years,  and  by  the  aid  of  his  father 
was  in  a  fair  way  to  rise  to  eminence  and  wealth  as  a 
bookseller  and  publisher,  he  made  known  to  his  uncle 
and  aunt,  what  indeed  they  had  long  suspected,  his 
strong  attachment  to  his  cousin  Fanny. 

(416) 


THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  417 

"  Both  Dr.  Wells  and  his  wife  had  a  general  feeling  of 
disapprobation  of  the  marriage  of  cousins,  and  had 
noticed  with  anxiety  that  their  daughter's  affections  were 
becoming  interested,  though  —  aside  from  the  relation  — 
they  knew  of  no  one  whom  they  preferred  as  a  husband 
for  Fanny.  In  the  hope  of  breaking  up  this  incipient 
attachment  they  had  sacrificed  the  pleasure  of  the 
society  of  herself  and  of  her  sister,  and  consented  that 
they  should  pass  nearly  a  year  with  their  grandparents  in 

C .  It  was  soon  after  their  return  to  the  city  that  Mr. 

Gordon  made  known  his  desires. 

It  is  easy  to  believe  what  one  wishes  to  be  true,  and 
earnestly  hoping  from  Fanny's  quiet  reception  of  her 
relative  that  she  felt  for  him  nothing  more  than  a  cous- 
in's regard,  Dr.  Wells  explained  to  his  young  friend  their 
strong  objection  to  the  alliance.  The  young  man  was 
greatly  agitated,  as  he  had  not  anticipated  a  refusal  from 
his  partial  friends.  After  a  few  moments  of  vain  at- 
tempt to  control  himself,  he  suddenly  departed,  having 
obtained  permission  to  see  Fanny  in  the  evening. 

It  was  with  real  pain  that  Mrs.  Wells  communicated 
the  same  to  her  daughter  who,  though  she  grew  very 
pale,  yet  said  nothing  to  indicate  the  strength  of  her 
attachment.  The  interview  with  her  lover  did  not  pass 
without  many  tears  on  the  part  of  the  gentle  girl,  or  of 
strong  emotion  from  her  cousin ;  but  neither  of  them 
once  dreamed  of  doing  that  which  would  be  displeasing 
to  those  who  they  knew  acted  for  their  best  good.  They 
endeavored  to  comfort  each  other  in  the  painful  disap- 
pointment, though  Charles  assured  her  again  and  again 
that,  for  her  sake,  he  should  never  marry. 


418  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND  MARRIAGES; 

"  I  shall  always  love  you,"  said  Fanny  tearfully, 
arising  and  putting  her  hand  in  his,  to  bid  him  adieu ; 
and  if  ever  you  need  sympathy"  —  she  could  say  no 
more,  but  turned  from  him  abruptly  and  sought  her 
chamber.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  refused  to 
admit  her  twin  sister  to  share  her  grief.  She  must  be 
alone  with  her  Maker. 

As  weeks  passed  into  months,  not  a  murmur  escaped 
her  lips  at  the  decision  of  her  parents,  though  it  had 
suddenly  quenched  the  light  of  her  young  life.  But  her 
eye  grew  dim  and  her  step  languid,  until  the  hearts  of 
her  fond  parents  were  filled  with  anxiety  and  alarm. 

Then  the  absence  of  Charles  cast  a  gloom  over  the 
whole  circle,  for  never,  since  their  first  accidental  meet- 
ing when  he  assisted  Fanny  from  the  pavement,  had 
he  failed  to  pass  the  Sabbath  with  them,  and  accom- 
pany the  family  to  church.  Dr.  Wells  called  often 
at  the  bookstore,  but  the  sight  of  him  always  seemed 
painful  to  the  young  man,  and  when  invited  to  the 
house,  he  briefly  replied  :  "  At  present  I  cannot  bear  it." 
Once  or  twice  when  he  had  accidentally  met  Fanny  and 
her  sister  in  their  daily  walk,  they  were  both  so  much 
agitated  that  they  shrank  from  the  recurrence  of  such  a 
meeting. 

Fanny  at  length  became  so  feeble,  and  it  was  with 
such  difficulty  she  discharged  her  simple  duties  in  the 
family,  that  her  father  called  in  medical  advice.  But 
the  physician  who  had  known  her  from  childhood,  said 
she  was  free  from  disease,  but  was  suffering  from  a 
general  prostration  of  strength,  which  he  said  probably 
affected  also  her  spirits.  He  recommended  a  change  of 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  419 

scene,  and  advised  that  she  should  return  to  her  grand- 
father's, and  as  far  as  she  was  able  make  use  of  salt 
water  baths. 

Leaving   her   husband   and    younger   children,    Mrs. 

Wells  accompanied  them  at  once  to  C ,  where  for 

a  time  the  change  seemed  beneficial.  In  a  confidential 
talk  with  her  daughter  before  she  left  her  to  return  home, 
she  enforced  upon  her  the  importance  of  striving  to  be 
cheerful,  in  order  to  regain  her  health. 

.  In  an  affecting  tone  of  humility,  Fanny  replied :  "  I 
do,  mamma,  I  never  allow  myself  to  think  of  Charles ; 
but  I  dream  of  him  every  night,  and  in  my  dreams  he  is 
so  wretched  that  I  cannot  help  weeping." 

A  sharp  pang  seized  the  heart  of  the  mother,  and  she 
asked  herself,  can  it  be  right  to  separate  them  ?  Having 
consented  to  leave  her  children  at  her  father's  for  the 
winter,  she  returned  home,  where  she  found  that  her 
nephew  was  preparing  to  leave  for  the  south,  to  be 
absent  several  months.  He  found  his  own  health  fail- 
ing under  the  pressure  of  anxiety  with  regard  to  Fanny, 
and  the  constant  struggle  which  was  necessary  to  main- 
tain self-control  sufficient  to  manage  his  business  and 
thought  that  by  travelling  he  could  perhaps  divert  his 
mind  to  other  scenes. 

His  uncle  and  aunt  parted  from  him  with  great 
regret.  Mrs.  Wells,  especially,  was  reluctant  to  have 
him  go  to  such  a  distance,  as  she  had  a  feeling  hardly 
yet  acknowledged  to  herself  that  to  save  the  life  of  her 
child,  it  would  be  necessary  to  retract  their  decision. 

For  a  few  months,  the  letters  from  C ,  rather  en- 
couraged the  hopes  of  the  parents,  that  Fanny  would 


420  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

soon  be  better.  The  change  in  her  was  so  gradual,  that 
those  constantly  with  her,  did  not  notice  it  as  a  stranger 
would  have  done,  and  the  young  girl  was  so  quiet  and 
unobtrusive  in  her  grief,  that  scarcely  her  sister  perceived 
how  rapidly  her  strength  was  wasting  away.  She  was 
obliged  to  lie  down  upon  the  sofa  more  and-more  frequent- 
ly ;  but  she  always  made  some  excuse,  and  seemed  so 
reluctant  to  confess  herself  ill,  that  her  friends  experi- 
enced no  particular  alarm.  At  length  one  day  in  the  lat- 
ter part  of  February,  she  rode  over  to  her  grandfather 
Wells's  to  pass  a  few  hours,  where  she  became  so  faint 
and  exhausted  by  the  exertion,  that  she  was  obliged  to 
keep  her  bed. 

Mr.  Warren  lost  no  time  in  writing  to  her  mother,  and 
more  than  hinted  that  he  considered  Fanny  in  a  decline. 
In  three  days,  Dr.  Wells  with  his  wife  arrived,  having  left 
home  in  the  next  boat  after  receiving  the  alarming  intel- 
ligence. 

They  were  pained  beyond  expression  at  the  change  in 
their  daughter's  appearance,  though  she  met  them  with  a 
smile  that  cut  them  to  the  heart 

"  Henry,"  said  Mrs.  Wells,  drawing  her  husband  aside, 
and  addressing  him  by  name  as  she  always  did  when 
laboring  under  excitement, "  We  have  sacrificed  our  child. 
God  grant  it  may  not  be  too  late  to  repair  the  evil. 
Fanny  is  dying  with  a  broken  heart" 

Dr.  Wells  walked  the  room  with  uneven  steps,  but 
with  his  eyes  concealed  by  his  handkerchief.  "  Would 
that  we  had  known  of  this  sooner!"  said  he,  in  a  hoarse 
voice.  "  I  will  see  the  physician  at  once.  Do  not  re- 
proach yourself,  my  dear  Susan,"  he  added,  seeing  her 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  421 

whole   form  was  convulsed  with  weeping.     "  We   did 
what  we  thought  was  for  the  best." 

"  I  know  she  will  die,"  sobbed  the  distressed  mother, 
"  and  I  shall  have  been  the  cause.  Yes,  she  will  die  a 
martyr  to  her  desire  to  obey  her  mother." 

A  low  knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  Helen  en- 
tered, saying,  "  Fanny  is  impatient  to  see  her  mother." 

"  I  will  come  in  a  minute,  my  dear,"  she  replied,  put- 
ting a  violent  restraint  upon  her  feelings. 

When  she  entered  the  room  where  the  invalid  lay  bol- 
stered up  in  bed,  she  came  near  having  another  burst  of 
grief.  The  sick  girl  raised  her  thin  arms,  and  drew  her 
mother  affectionately  to  her,  kissing  her  tenderly.  "  Do 
you  think  me  so  much  changed,  mamma,"  she  asked 
softly  ?  "  There,  don't  weep,"  she  said,  as  she  felt  the  hot 
tears  falling  thickly  upon  her  face.  "  I  am  reconciled  to 
death.  For  a  long  time  I  have  known  that  I  could  not 
•live;  but  for  your  sake  and  Helen's,  I  have  tried  to 
seem  well.  It  will  be  better  for  him  too,"  she  added, 
after  a  moment,  seeing  her  mother  was  too  much  af- 
fected to  reply.  "  We  shall  meet  there,"  raising  her  eyes 
to  heaven.  "  Don't  you  think,  mamma,  he  is  a  Chris- 
tian?" 

Mrs.  Wells  could  only  motion  her  assent. 

"  Then  I  hope  we  shall  spend  an  eternity  together  in 
loving  the  Saviour  who  suffered  so  much  for  us.  It  will 
not  be  wrong  for  us  to  love  each  other  there ! "  she  asked 
with  an  earnest  inquiry. 

"  Oh,  my  love,  forgive  your  mother !  If  Charles  loves 
you  still,  you  shall  not  wait  until  you  go  to  heaven  to 
love  him." 

36 


422  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  J 

Mrs.  Wells  sprang  back  at  the  sudden  gasp  for 
breath  from  her  enfeebled  child.  She  had  not  realized 
the  danger  of  so  sudden  a  relief.  For  a  long  time 
Fanny  lay  with  her  eyes  closed,  and  nearly  resembling 
death. 

Her  mother  was  almost  frantic,  and  sent  Helen  for  her 
father  and  the  physician.  But  by  the  aid  of  wine  and 
water,  she  again  revived.  When  she  opened  her  eyes 
she  gazed  around  her  as  if  she  feared  she  were  dreaming, 
and  then  feebly  beckoning  her  mother  to  approach,  said 
softly,  "  Did  I  hear  you  aright,  mamma  ?  May  I  love 
him?" 

"  Yes,  darling,  I  said  so ;  but  don't  think  of  it  now, 
your  father  will  write  to  Charles  to  come  home." 

A  beautiful  smile  of  gratitude  lighted  up  her  pale  face 
as  she  replied,  "  oh,  mamma,  how  happy  you  have  made 
me!  Please  leave  me  alone  for  awhile  with  Helen,  I 
can  hardly  realize  it  yet ! " 

After  a  free  conversation  with  the  physician,  the  anx- 
ious parents  concluded  to  write  at  once  to  Charles,  and 
to  direct  to  him  at  several  places.  This  they  did  and 
only  waited  to  add  a  message  from  Fanny  before  they 
sent  the  letter.  After  an  hour,  when  Helen  again  sum- 
moned her  mother,  Mrs.  Wells  read  the  letter  aloud,  and 
asked  what  she  should  add  from  her. 

"  Tell  him,"  said  she,  with  a  heavenly  smile,  "  that  the 
hope  of  seeing  him  once  more,  has  called  me  back  to 
earth." 

Much  as  the  mother  suffered  in  writing  this  affecting 
message,  it  was  trifling  compared  with  that  of  the  young 
man  who  received  it  in  Washington  as  he  was  travelling 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  423 

slowly  homeward.  He  tortured  himself  with  the  thought 
that  he  was  called  home  to  see  her  die ;  and  this  thought 
so  agitated  him  that  when  after  travelling  day  and  night 

he  reached  C ,  he  appeared  as  if  he  would  not  be 

detained  long  from  following  her  to  the  world  of  spirits. 
I  must  draw  a  veil  over  the  meeting  of  these  pure  souls 
and  the  bliss  of  the  days  and  weeks  which  intervened 
before  Mr.  Gordon  returned  to  the  city  betrothed  to  his 
lovely  cousin.  For  the  first  time  in  their  lives  the  twin- 
sisters  were  separated,  and  Helen  accompanied  him  to 
New  York  to  make  preparation  for  the  removal  of  the 
family  to  C early  in  May,  as  Mrs.  Wells  had  de- 
termined not  to  leave  her  daughter  until  June,  when  a 
husband  would  claim  her. 

In  the  mean  time  Fanny  gained  but  slowly,  and  her 
parents  often  sighed  as  they  thought  that  perhaps  years 
would  pass  before  she  would  recover  from  the  shock  her 
constitution  had  received.  She  was  now  able  to  sit  up 
the  greater  part  of  the  day,  and  to  ride  slowly  for  a  few 
miles.  After  her  marriage  she  was  to  reside  for  a  month 
in  the  family  of  her  mother's  friend,  Mrs.  Hall,  as  the 
physician  earnestly  recommended  surf-bathing. 

Charles  had  visited  her  once  in  two  or  three  weeks 
and  passed  the  Sabbath,  and  to-night  he  was  expected 
for  the  last  time.  Yes  !  To-morrow  was  the  bridal  day ; 
and  it  was  the  arrival  of  the  bridegroom  who  was  now 
momentarily  expected. 

Brother,  and  sisters  are  eagerly  watching  from  the 
window,  and  Fanny's  eyes  often  wander  in  the  same 
direction,  for  she  is  sitting  so  that  she  can  see  far  down 
the  street  At  length,  Helen  shouts :  "  There  he  is," 


424  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES; 

and  soon  two  gentlemen  closely  resembling  each  other 
rapidly  approach  the  house.  Mr.  Frederic  Gordon 
catches  his  companion's  hat  which  he  was  throwing 
hastily  upon  the  table,  while  the  ardent,  happy  lover 
springs  lightly  up  the  stairs,  and  soon  folds  his  dearly 
loved  one  to  his  heart. 

"  I  wonder,"  thought  Frederic,  who  was  to  graduate 
in  a  month  from  college,  as  he  stood  at  the  door  and 
surveyed  the  scene,  "if  I  shall  ever  love  or  be  loved  like 
that!"  By  some  strange  association  the  sister  of  his 
classmate  and  dearest  friend,  Albert  Clinton,  appeared 
suddenly  before  him,  and  turning  for  a  moment  to  the 
window  he  was  soon  far  advanced  in  dream-land. 

To  Mrs.  Wells  the  marriage,  under  such  circum- 
stances, of  her  beloved  daughter  to  the  nephew  of  her 
husband  was  one  of  the  most  affecting  scenes  of  her  life. 
To  give  her  up  to  the  keeping  of  another  would  at  any 
time  have  been  a  trial  to  her  loving  heart,  and  she 
realized  now,  as  she  had  never  done  before,  the  anxiety 
of  her  own  mother  at  her  first  nuptials.  But  Fanny  was 
still  an  invalid,  and  needed  the  most  tender  nursing  if 
she  ever  regained  her  wonted  health.  This,  she  was  sure, 
the  bride  would  receive  from  Charles,  who  every  day 
exhibited  traits  reminding  her  more  and  more  of  her 
beloved  husband.  Then  Helen  was  to  remain  with  her, 
and  Mrs.  Hall  would  be  a  mother  to  them  until  their 
return  to  her  own  family  in  the  fall. 

The  wedding  ceremony  was  necessarily  a  very  simple 
one,  as  the  bride  was  unable  to  bear  excitement,  and  was 
to  ride  directly  after  it  to  her  native  place.  At  the  ap- 
pointed time  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Warren  came  over  from  the 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  425 

parsonage,  Gracie  being  already  there  to  dress  the  bride ; 
the  families,  with  no  guests  but  the  father  of  the  groom, 
and  their  kind  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ha.ll,  gathered  in  the 
large  parlor  which  Helen  had  decorated  with  roses  and 
narcissus.  When  all  were  seated,  Fanny  entered  slowly, 
leaning  for  support  upon  the  arm  of  her  lover.  As  they 
reached  the  sofa,  Charles  whispered  that  she  had  better 
be  seated,  but  she  shook  her  head,  when  he  put  his  arm 
tenderly  about  her  waist,  and  thus  supported  her  until 
the  mystic  knot  was  tied  which  united  them  for  life. 
The  bride  was  very  pale  as  she  took  her  seat ;  but  she 
returned  her  husband's  look  of  anxiety  with  a  glance 
of  the  most  confiding  affection.  He  bent  over  her  as 
he  whispered:  "Dearest  Fanny,  my  head  is  actually 
giddy  with  excess  of  happiness.  You,  now,  are  all 
mine ! " 

After  waiting  a  moment  to  give  her  time  to  rest,  her 
father  and  mother  went  quietly  up  to  salute  her  by  her 
new  title,  and  they  were  followed  by  other  friends.  When 
her  new  father  approached  she  stood  up  to  receive  his 
blessing ;  but  he  took  her  hands  in  his  and  gently  re- 
seating her,  said  solemnly :  "  May  God,  your  father's 
God,  grant  you  restored  health,  and  much  happiness, 
my  daughter  ;  "  then,  affectionately  kissing  her,  he  with- 
drew. His  manner  and  voice  so  much  resembled  his 
deceased  brother's  that  Mrs.  Wells  could  not  keep  back 
her  tears.  Fanny  leaned  her  head  upon  her  husband's 
shoulder  and  wept  silently,  while  all  present  were  greatly 
affected. 

After  the  cake  had  been  passed  and,  by  order  of  the 
physician  who  rode  up  in  time  to  bid  her  farewell,  a  turn- 


426  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES  ; 

bier  of  porter  given  to  his  patient,  her  father  and  mother 

accompanied  the  newly  married  pair   to    B ,  while 

Helen  returned  in  the  carriage  with  Mrs.  Hall.  Here 
they  left  her  in  the  care  of  one  of  her  oldest  friends,  and 
with  many  charges  to  their  new  son  to  write  often,  they 
bid  the  gentle  bride,  her  husband  and  sister  adieu,  and 

returned  to  C to  make  hasty  preparation  for  going 

to  New  York. 

In  concluding,  I  will  say,  Frederic  having  an  uncon- 
querable desire  to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  his  father, 
joined,  a  few  months  after  his  graduation,  the  theologi- 
cal school  in  New  York,  where  he  entered  with  the  ardor 
and  enthusiasm  which  was  a  part  of  his  nature,  into  the 
preparation  for  his  chosen  profession.  In  due  time,  he 
finished  his  course,  and  was  called  to  fill  a  post  of  useful- 
ness and  honor,  in  a  church  in  Baltimore. 

Soon  after  his  settlement,  there  was  a  double  mar- 
riage in  his  father's  church,  when  he  was  united  to  Sarah 
Wallace  Clinton,  and  Albert  Clinton  to  his  sister  Helen. 
Young  Bentley,  who  was  also  a  licentiate,  having  pur- 
sued the  same  course  as  his  friend,  begged  earnestly  that 
his  nuptials  with  Laura  might  be  celebrated  at  the  same 
time,  but  Dr.  Wells  pleasantly  replied,  that  he  hoped 
there  would  not  be  another  flood,  though  of  late,  people 
were  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage,  as  they  were  be- 
fore Noah  entered  into  the  ark. 

The  winter  following  the  marriage  of  Fanny  at  her 
grandfather's,  in  accordance  with  the  request  of  Mr. 
Warren,  the  church  voted  to  call  a  young  man  as  col- 


OR,    THE    COURTESIES    OF    WEDDED    LIFE.  427 

league  with  their  aged  pastor.  Their  choice  fell  upon 
Mr.  Wainwright,  a  young  licentiate  who  had  studied  the- 
ology in  C ,  and  thus  Gracie  saw  at  length  that  the 

paths  of  duty  and  of  inclination  were  happily  united. 
For  nearly  three  years  she  had  been  betrothed  to  her 
father's  student,  having  become  acquainted  with  him 
while  he  was  in  College,  but  had  positively  refused  to 
leave  her  aged  parents. 

Mr.  George  Wells,  now  an  active  citizen,  residing  on 
his  father's  estate,  called  a  meeting  of  the  parish,  when 
they  voted  to  repair  the  parsonage,  and  make  such  alter- 
ations as  their  new  minister  might  deem  necessary  for 
the  comfortable  residence  of  the  two  families.  They  also 
voted  to  continue  the  salary  of  their  former  pastor  during 
his  life. 

The  latter  resolution,  however,  the  good  old  man 
would  by  no  means  accept.  His  expenses  were  small, 
his  children  all  provided  for.  If  he  could  have  a  home  in 
the  parsonage,  under  whose  friendly  roof  he  had  so  long 
labored  for  his  beloved  people,  and  the  sum  of  two  hun- 
dred dollars  annually,  his  wants  would  be  amply  sup- 
plied. 

Squire  Wells  lived  to  a  good  old  age,  until  he  had 
held  the  infant  of  his  grandchild,  Laura  Wells  Bent- 
ley  upon  his  knees,  and  then  departed,  universally  re- 
spected and  mourned  by  his  large  circle  of  relatives  and 
friends. 

His  son  continued  to  increase  in  usefulness  and  hap- 
piness. Upon  the  twentieth  anniversary  of  his  marriage 
he  gathered  around  him  his  children  and  children's  chil- 
dren to  the  number  of  ten  souls.  As  he  with  his  beloved 


428  THE    FIRST    AND    THE    SECOND    MARRIAGES. 

wife  glanced  from  one  to  another,  and  called  to  mind 
the  active  part  they  had  taken  in  the  education  not  only 
of  their  own  children,  but  also  of  those  who  had  become 
their  companions,  they  blessed  God  that  he  had  given 
them  the  wisdom  profitable  to  direct. 


END, 


